Farewells. (For all those who wish to join.)

OoC: This RP is dedicated to the memory of Kellson/Johnny Bones, and, of course...Duke.

I start this with a quote from one of my and Duke’s favorite Chappelle's Show skits (the Prince basketball one), just like we used to do in our first battle ever: “In your face, Charlie Murphy.”

IC:
Clarity.

She thought that would be the last thing she’d want at a moment like this. The universes upon universes out there were whirling around on unfathomable points, completely unaware of their loss, save for those few little candles in the dark—those few little hearts in those few little, feeble pinpricks of life—where everything was utterly frozen. They would be frozen for some time. They hadn’t invented the defroster that could thaw this feeling out in mere minutes, like microwaving some mysterious leftover stuck in the freezer for months.

She actually wasn’t quite sure what she was staring at anymore. Colors and shapes had blurred; visual clarity wasn’t the kind of thing she was worried about right now. She had clarity of mind. Her world was filled with only her thoughts, and memories, and the little soft sounds of her own breath.

She gazed emptily now at the blue, clear sky overhead, seeing more than what was physically there. When a human experiences a loss like she had, yelling at the heavens seemed to be a popular course of action. It wasn’t that those big, puffy, stupid clouds were staring back at you and angering you, all placid and…and cotton-candy like…like something out of a happy little children’s book. Like nothing happened. At least…not entirely.

It’s that you wanted to believe, somehow, that by yelling at the sky, someone beyond could hear you.

Cadenza Madrigal clenched a fist, threw her head back, and shouted at the height of her voice: “Godsdamnit, you big bloody weenus! Why did you have to go?”

Nearby birds fluttered away in fear. Leaves on numerous flowering trees shook at the sheer gravity of that shout.

Someone, back in the reality of the immense Dome garden that Cadenza had mistakenly thought she was alone in, coughed.

The gypsy became vaguely aware of the woman beside her--she had been standing there for the past ten minutes. And, at the moment, she looked considerably appalled.

“…It’s the skin on your elbow, ma’am, I assure you—and it’s a joke. He would have wanted a joke.”

This seemed to do little for the teacher’s reputation. The woman sucked her teeth in a derisive tsk, shook her head, and quickly moved to a safe distance before she found herself in the way of one of those punches she had heard so much about from messengers who had run-ins with the temperamental gypsy before. No one was quite sure how to behave around the teacher right now--she had the potential to be one of those ticking time-bombs, where the littlest thing would set off an explosion no one could ever be truly prepared for. Grief wasn’t a new thing to her, but it was something she experienced in seclusion--and often drunkenness—and this time, she wasn’t dealing with it in either way, and that was…confusing. Unpredictable.

The first thing that seemed to come to her was that ugly, persistent kind of regret; the kind that makes your heart feel heavier than a lead weight, and is just as toxic to your insides. She had spent the whole morning in that state, reflecting. In her mind, for once, she was honest with herself. The chronic liar; the proud, reticent heart; and all those walls…metaphorical, emotional walls that people like her life coach--a man who, if his life had a soundtrack, it would be comprised of elevator music and the tunes to the commercials during A. E. Pessimal’s “Auditing Your Life” radio broadcast--always talked about seemed to melt away…for a time. As much as they could while still leaving a recognizable trace of the Cadenza they were a part of within.

That morning, she had sat and thought to herself: …When he was Kellson, I hated him. At least…on the surface. I wasted precious time with petty hate... He hated me, so I forced myself to return the feeling—I didn’t want to be that person who gives one-sided respect, like a person who bakes someone cupcakes, only to have that someone throw them down and smash them with their boots until they were only stains on the floor. I wanted it back in return. I… didn’t have the strength to put myself out there and try and change the state of things… He was just a dumb student, and I…I didn’t see the value in becoming at least a friend to him. We fought, we argued, we…wasted time. Then I left the Dome and him for my own business.

Then…he passed on for the first time. I…I just tried to seem angry about him being graced with the opportunity to repent when I heard the news from Zorlo…once the initial shock wore away. Was there grief then? I don’t know. I was good at twisting those kinds of feelings into blind anger—sometimes without realizing it. That was something I wasn’t ashamed to express—“I hate you”, “you anger me”, whatever. Grief was different. You…you had to show things could hurt you. That you didn’t hate someone when they had hated you, even. That you thought that he had been too young to go when he did, and that…maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he did get to come back. I didn’t want to think about him. It was opening up too many avenues. I was feeling vulnerable. I tried to push him out of my life, and it was easy for a while, when we didn’t see each other.

But that couldn’t last. The Dome wouldn’t let it. It knew better. I’m always questioning why the place does certain things to me, and always getting so angry at it for doing them…but this change in our relationship that it pushed for, sticking us together time and time again…I could never thank the place enough.

We ran into each other for the first time since his resurrection in Chinatown. I had read the files on him in the Dome before then…knew why he was back. The idea of him saving ten thousand souls seemed laughable. We…we slipped right back into comfortable hatred. Witty retorts and insults at the other’s expense. Trash talk and fighting. I wanted to get away from him—but he wouldn’t leave me alone. It was so frustrating. I couldn’t get away.

Then the Spirit of Shadow made a power grab, and for a little while, I was away from it all. But it was terrible. Trapped in my own body, without any of my control. He thought he could still fight me—but he had no chance. I hurt him again and again…

And then…when I was freed…and I started fighting that Dybia…things seemed to change. Johnny seemed to have a change of heart, or something…something had clicked. And thank the gods that it did. It started so much. It started something that would soon let me be happy again...truly happy for the first time since I lost Paris.

I tried to not think about Johnny. I tried to be angry at him. I couldn’t. He disarmed me with that personality. Those things couldn’t stand up to his efforts to make me let him in…after Chinatown, he met with me again and again in my training room at the Dome. Things moved quickly. I was swept up by him. Erik…paled in comparison then. Faded into the background. Johnny and I were becoming friends…and I almost felt like some sort of infatuated schoolgirl when I was with him. My heart felt light and airy. I tried to deny that for a time…but the Dome helped things along in the form of my other students, and…we started to share some nice moments. We were both surprised by it all. It was unexpected, but…it seemed…right. We weren’t perfect, and we both had our flaws and troubles, but…the Dome had brought us together. Or rather…Johnny had.

He saw something in this…in this “wretched, mean-spirited, lazy, disobedient, rude little slip of a woman” that no one else really saw…and he…he softened me. He softened all that. I could be that flawed woman, and be accepted. He…he made me laugh like no one else. He sang to me with more feeling than anyone did. Because he did it to make me happy. He treated me like he treated no one else. We didn’t get to be together for long, but…I couldn’t remember ever being that happy in so long. That short time together meant so much. He'd risked himself for me at times...and we both made sacrifices and tough choices...we both had found someone who'd do that for our sake.

And now…now he’s where he should be. Heaven. Gods…or God, I should say, knows he deserves a place there. He saved ten thousand souls. And…if I’m going to continue to be honest with myself, then…I was one of those souls. He might not have known it. But I’d like to think…maybe I was Number Ten Thousand. Number Ten Thousand…who’s going to feel lost for quite some time without the brilliant light that complemented her shadow…

...I think I might have been beginning to love you, Johnny. And I just wish I had gotten a chance to say it before. Adios...

OoC: I intend to post again for my other characters that still have goodbyes to say. I just...wanted Cadenza to have this post for herself.

Death comes fast.

Like an asteroid screaming through the sky, like a train hurtling past the station...

It comes.

Ejnar bowed his head and looked up to the sky, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. He would always get like this when experiencing death; it was never a thing he liked to experience, but who does? No tears came, he spoke no words; he merely stayed silent, thinking, contemplating.

He could be next, who knows? Death rolls the dice, death holds the stakes. You never know.

Goodbye, Johnny.

OoC: My post isn't long, I didn't know Duke; this is my tribute.

Crack... crash!

The heavy tree feel over, crashing hard into the ground. The trunk broken, splinters laying about, and the blood dripping from the hand of the man who had shattered the tree. A strong enough strike from the fleshy side of his left hand had easily cracked one of the largest trees in the jungle, but it didn't really matter to the green haired man at that moment. He fell to his knees, in complete disbelief. How could this have happened?

Zorlo looked to the sky, the sun moving through the tree tops to shine down upon him. The bright light of the sun only forced the Aura Master to look away from it. For the first time in many long nights, he felt those emotions that he boasted to no longer have rush over him. Zorlo stared at his hands as memories rushed back to him, overwhelming his heart. "How could this have happened. Everything was going so well, and then this. Zorlo couldn't help it. He felt a tear fall from his eye, and then couldn't stop the sudden rush.

"You bastard!" Zorlo yelled as he felt the weight upon his heart becoming unbearable. He had sat in silence for the past few days in his room, unable to move past the initial shock. Now that it had finally sunk into Zorlo's mind, the reality of it hit him like an atomic bomb. "How can you leave me? How can you leave her? How could... how could this have happened. How could you leave us."

Tears streamed from Zorlo's eyes as anger and sadness crushed his heart. No matter what Zorlo told himself, he couldn't help but be mad at this. "No matter how much you may have bothered me... I never thought... I never imagined... How could you leave me here without a rival? That's what you were to me. I respected you, you arrogant bastard... and you leave me here to continue fighting. How is it that someone immortal could leave this world first? Why?" Zorlo asked, unable to reason out why this had happened.

The fencer saw everything flash back into his mind at once. Kellson and the plateau; Johnny and that island; then Chinatown. What did that leave? Of three battles, Zorlo had learned that he actually enjoyed fight Johnny. "No matter how much stronger I became... you'd rise up to try to be my equal. No matter how great my skill level and aura grew, you'd find ways to strike back. Now that you're gone... who's going to tell me I'm wrong? Who's going to stand up to me and force me to truly understand myself? What's left?"

Zorlo stopped, feeling a laugh rise. He couldn't resist, it was suddenly funny, for some reason. Zorlo stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes and smiling he began to laugh. "It's hard to imagine. I didn't know you that long, but still, I know you've changed my life. I'll miss you, Johnny. Thank you for all you've done for me. There's one person that needs to hear that now more then me. I'll miss you, and no matter how much you hated me, I'll always consider you my friend and rival. Fair well."

The Aura Master shoved his hands in the pocket and exited his room. He had someone who needed some form of condolence, even if she hated him.

OoC: Zorlo needed to pay his tribute alone. Zach and Monroe will have their chance later.

“Well Johnny boy,” Cain said to nobody in particular, staring at the red substance in his glass. “I guess you did it. Congrats to you.”

The vampire lifted his glass up to the pale moon in a toast. Ziran stuck his head out of Adonai’s jacket pocket and mewed mournfully. Neither one had really known Johnny very well, but it was the first time in a long while that somebody they actually knew had died.

Cain sipped his drink and scratched the kitten’s ears absent-mindedly. He was sure that he would’ve become fast friends with Johnny, had they met sooner. They seemed to share a taste in music, and both were firearms aficionados.

Ziran, on the other hand, knew Johnny even less than Cain did. Johnny Bones to him was just another semi-nice person in that odd room Adonai kept dropping the kitty off at. Despite knowing Bones even less than the vampire, the windigo was the more outwardly sad of the two. He was an emotional kitty after all, and the passing of anybody was something to be mourned.

Kunto hopped out of his vampiric friend’s pocket and shifted into his hybrid form. Cain finished his drink and tossed the glass over the edge of the bar roof. His trash taken care of, he turned and looked at the catboy, his cold gaze warming slightly at the sight of the tears in Ziran’s eyes.

“Can we go now?” Ziran asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Adonai could easily tell that the windigo wanted to see Zorlo for comfort. Even though the two rarely met, the hybrid considered the green-haired man a source of comfort.

“Sure,” Cain replied, stepping off the roof of the bar and dropping down to the street below. Ziran followed suit, and the two were on their way to the Dome. Adonai had somebody he wanted to see himself: Cadenza. Even though he hated her with every fiber of his being, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He knew what it was like to lose a lover…

OOC: Short and crappy, I know. It's the best I could do though...

Drifting throught an endless void.

The blonde-haired man turned over as he floated along--at least, he thought he did. It was hard to tell without any direction. There was no up, down, left, right, forward, or backwards. There only was.

Lhaeo blinked slowly, his bright blue eyes scanning all around as if trying to pierce the void to its boundaries in search of something. In search of a person. In search of Johnny. His passing had come as a shock. Lhaeo's mind had stumbled in confusion and amazement at the news. He had already had to deal with Kellson's death; now he was to deal with Johnny's? But then the message had continued; Johnny had not been stolen away. He had not died in some battle to the death. No. Johnny had fulfilled his mission. The ten thousandth soul had been saved, and so Johnny had been called home.

Lhaeo sighed within the void, bending into a sitting position and pulling his coat around himself. Johnny had fought, struggled for Atonement, and now he had finally achieved it. He had gone through hell--literally---so that his path to Heaven might be clear. The Elemental Master smiled. Kellson . . . Johnny . . . He had been such an amazing and fascinating individual. An a wonderfully loyal friend. Such loyalty. And such passion and wit. Lhaeo laughed into the void as one particular memory came back to him. Johnny strolling boldly, guns blazing, into the grasp of sure defeat, raunchy insults and hilarious wittisms spewing forth from his jaw almost as rapidly as bullets from his guns. And true to every insult and promise, the man had come through victorious, his ever-enduring cloak of confidence intact. The blonde-haired man wouldn't cry for his friend, nor would he become angry nor depressed. Instead, he smiled and sent out his heart to his loyal friend. He hoped that he would one day find the peace that he knew Johnny had found.

Lhaeo had been searching for Johnny in the void between worlds and realms, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the next world. But I suppose that isn't going to happen, Lhaeo thought, resigned. Then I suppose that I'll have to just do what I can to honor your journey home. Straightening his back, the Elemental Master stretched out both arms, palms held upward. Slowly, a pool of stone began to form in his hands, molding into twin basins, strong and thick. Twin bubbles of water appeared above them, sloshing and swirling in mid-air. Then, as if an invisible needle had popped them, water began to flow out of the bubbles to fill the stone basins. Next, air swirled up around the basins, lifting them from Lhaeo's hands to turn slowly in the void before him. Taking a deep breath, the Elemental Master brought both hands together, touching them to his lips. He breathed out through them, fire escaping from between his fingers to stand upon the pools of water.

Done, Lhaeo floated back to survey his work. He nodded in satisfaction. Now, to ensure that the Guiding Beacons would last forever. The priest closed his eyes and reached out to the Weave. He took a strand of the mystic cloth and fed it into the two monuments, tying them forever to the Weave. The man opened his blue eyes, sparks of joy gleaming within them. Now the Beacons would stand for as long as the Weave existed to feed life into them. Lhaeo tossed one hand out, and one of the Beacons floated out with it. The Beacon, made from the Stone of the Strong, Water of the Pure, Fire of the Willfull, and Air of the Free, drifted out into the void. And it would stand there between the worlds, a monument to Johnny Bones, who had triumphed over his sins and the hate of others.

Closing his eyes once more, Lhaeo faded out from the void, the other Guiding Beacon following. Eyes opening once more, the Elemental Master found himself back in his world, surrounded by a rapidly-fading white glow. He sat cross-legged on the peak of a wonderous mountain, snow piled ip around him. Through the skimpy white clouds, he surveyed the world below. A pair of smaller mountains flanked the one Lhaeo stood upon, and at their feet stretched out a massive carpet of grass. The vibrant green was spotted by bright reds, yellows, blues, and oranges of wildflowers, and in the distance the the darker green of a forest reached up towards the sky. Glancing up, Lhaeo saw the second Beacon floating before him, taller than a man and as powerful as the raw elements that composed it.

Rising to his feet, Lhaeo looked over the monument to Johnny that would stand here at this mountain peak. He would have to show this place to Zorlo. He knew the fencer to be an aquaintance of Bones as well. And Akira, too. Tossing his head back, the Elemental Master laughed once more--for Johnny. Opening his mouth wide, Lhaeo called out over the mountains, field, and forest as loud and cheerfully as he could.

"For Johnny Bones! Long live the spirit of Johnny Bones!"

Silence.

Heishuro bit his lip, wondering the thoughts running through the minds all in attendance. Despite knowing little of the deceased, Maruchi had to crease his brow to stem the wet apathy in his eyes. It was almost as if he were too beaten with emotion; too knocked down to get up again.

Death was something Maruchi knew he’d have to come to terms with. He knew that it would find him someday, and—in any scenario akin to the fighter’s—it wouldn’t be of old age. Yet this death had winded him. Instead of melancholy; instead of misery, there was a severe lack of the reverse. In a sense this is the emotion itself; yet it was a dry emptiness for Heishuro.

Forcing his mind onward, the martial artist looked around for condolences; only finding various people in need of the same reassurance that he was.

I suppose everyone reacts to tragedy in a different way… he obligated to himself, trying to justify his unique reaction.

Realising his hand was over the upper left of his chest, Maruchi began to move it, before deciding against it.

“Johnny Bones…” Heishuro began in a hoarse voice. “Maybe we’ll see each other in the next life... that gives me something to look forward too, at least.”

They say the show must go on.

But after this... can it still?

It was raining that morning. But, for once, the Dark Eye did not seem to mind the slight drizzle that dampened his coat and matted his hair. He strode to the center of the courtyard, directly in front of the great fountain where, even to this day, students began their assignments and their missions. It seemed a fitting place. In his right hand, Chronos carried a rather large hunk of iron, easily the size of a short man. It must have weighed several hundred pounds but, to the iron giant, it did not seem like so much. As he neared the fountain, Chronos paused to stare at the grey sky.

“It seems that the clouds are weeping,” he murmured to his companions, the blond bloodmaster and the dark mystic. “Why are we doing this, Kenjin?”

The avatar, intelligent as ever, was ready with repartee. “Because, Chronos, you are one of the most intelligent people here. Burials need to be taken with care, especially here in the Dome. It was wished for him to be laid here, and we will honor that request. You must sculpt the headstone. Elrick-” And he paused, as he turned his head to the tall blond man beside him “-must dig the grave. And I? I am here because, as with all things, I wish to be here.”

Chronos shrugged his shoulders. “We should not even be here. Especially not Elrick and you. Neither of you can die. It is ironic you should attend.”

Elrick chuckled. “Relax, Metalhead. The guy’s dead. He deserves nothing but the best.”

“Cadenza will be joining us shortly,” Kenjin muttered, and lowered his head. “We’d best begin.” The Dark Eye, deciding it was best to stop asking questions, threw the hunk of iron directly in front of the fountain. “Mold the iron into a fitting burial stone. Elrick, begin by digging the grave.” Kenjin huddled himself amongst his Druid cloak, and observed without opening his eyes the process.

Elrick, as Chronos began to mold the metal, raised his hands above a small patch of wet earth. Red droplets began to pour like rain from the palms of his hands, digging into the soft ground below. After a minute or so, Elrick’s smile brightened, and the blood began to shift the earth upwards, digging and digging. Before long, a great patch of earth, seven feet in length and six feet deep, was open, dirt all around the sides. Because this did not seem very well-done, Elrick completed the grave by levitating the blood-soaked ground he had dug up away from the grave, to the empty grave looked neat. At the same time, Kenjin motioned to the heavens, and shifted the clouds in the sky so that the rain would not flood the grave.

Chronos, on the other hand, had a far more difficult task. Metal poured out from his right arm. As it moved, it covered the hunk of iron with a fine, extremely powerful coat of Chronos’ densest steel. Because the metal he had scrapped together for the gravestone was made of an alloy designed to be long-lasting but not durable, it was easy to mold it into a small, suitable stone. Chronos didn’t know what Johnny Bones would have liked, only that he knew what regular gravestones looked like. The molding process took roughly ten minutes and Chronos, knowing that the comrades of Johnny Bones would have wanted it, left a square indent in the steel so an epitaph could be written in the center. Finished, he planted the metal directly in front of the grave Elrick had dug. It would not rust, he had seen to that, and would last as long as the Dome would.

“Very good,” the mystic murmured. All was prepared. “Now, we shall wait for Cadenza’s requests. Wait with me.” The Dark Eye and the bloodmaster did as they were asked, and flanked the quiet mystic as they awaited the Dome instructor.

The sky was in mourning. Clouds sprinkled the soft, green earth. The wind blew gently, whistling a slow lament. All about the Dome was silence, its cloak wrapped tight around the halls, corridors and rooms. Mesfido had never met Johnny Bones yet even so, the death of such a loved man could not fail to affect him. It was the sympathy for all does that had loved Johnny that Mesfido felt more so than grief. Their pain ran through him, dragging the memory of Jaina’s near death experience back into his mind. It had almost destroyed him, almost driven to madness.

Someone had once said that every death diminishes us all. Those words could not have been truer.

Mesfido stared blankly at the gardens below. Three men were digging a grave. He knew one, it was Kenjin. Now was not the time for talking to the Encorna though. Not in this time of mourning and grief. Even the great Kenjin himself had come to pay tribute to Johnny. There was little Mesfido could do for those close to Johnny but there was one thing, one simple gesture that he would make.

The fallen angel glided to the earth far beneath, landing without the slightest noise. He glanced briefly at Kenjin, neither saying a word. His gaze flickered to the headstone. Mesfido’s fingers dug into his pockets, searching out a cool marble touch. The smooth stone connected with his fingertips. He drew out the marble touchstone, the angelic rune of healing dangling from its end.

He placed it in his open palm, placing his other above it. His eyes shut, instinctively switching on his elemental vision. Even the elements seemed to mourn Johnny’s death. Mesfido had never seen them so sullen, so dull. He called forth the power of his own Seven Elements and focused them into the touchstone.

His hand began shine, a glowing star of a thousand colours. A pair of whispered words wound their way out of his throat, “Sanatio Tristi.” The shimmering lights flickered and vanished into the marble, its surface changing, undergoing an incredible metamorphous. He pulled away his hand, the stone levitating in air.

It began to grow, a stem winding down to the damp grass, leaves flowing out from its side. The angelic rune widened, blooming into beautiful petals. Mesfido stepped back, glancing over his work. It was all he could do.

The flower’s stem seemed to change colour with every passing second. No colour it took was ever the same, an infinite scale of purples, reds, yellows, greens, blues, pinks and any and every colour fuelled it. The petals too seemed to change with every look, each a different colour to the next. Mesfido extended his huge hand, his fingers touching one of the petals. Gently, ever so carefully, he plucked one of the petals. A sparkle of light and sound flittered through the air. He stared at it, content with his gift. He walked over to the empty grave, dropping the single petal into. He murmured, “To ease the grief.”

The petal fluttered to a halt at the base of the grave. Suddenly, it was awash with colour. Veins of life spread out into the earth, riddling their way through the grave’s walls. All around flowers burst into life, surrounding the grave with a mass of ever changing colour. That was Mesfido’s gift. He hoped his words had been powerful enough, that they would fulfil their meaning and ease the grief.

OoC: This first part is the first time Roery meets Kellson in the IC. I had to change it up a little, but since it is canon to Roery, and not many people ever saw it, I thought I'd share it.

BiC:

“Woman? Fight? Hahahaha. And also, ha. Noooooo, thanks. I've fought two women recently and neither of them were shining examples of feministic power. I'll stay by myself.”

“...Unless this Roery wants to stop by for a drink or two later.”

Zyler grinned and scratched the back of his head. “You bum. She’s probably a better fighter then me, and twice as brutal. And she’d be fighting on your team.”

“If you really want I can go find her.”

“Bum yourself,” Retorted the black haired man. “I don't even know how good a fighter you are. Send her in here if she's that good.”

“yeahright...” Kellson scoffed.

The leather garbed man shook his head. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he headed out the door. It was going to be interesting to see what Roery made of the winged man.

<{~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~}>

“Zyler! I don’t want to meet your friends,” The tavern door swung open suddenly and a blond haired young woman, dragging her heals, was pulled through the door.

“Hello everybody! This is the Roery I’ve told you all so much abo-”, Zyler was cut off as Roery pushed him away from her. She stood there timidly at the door. Smiling shyly, she gave a small wave. “Uh, hi.” She said, before turning to leave.

Kellson folded his arms and grinned. “This is the so-called brutal woman fighter? I've seen hedgehogs that looked more dangerous.”

Roery paused mid step... then, in a blinding flash of blue light, the woman donned her armor, snapped a gun into her and fired a plasma disk past Kellsons head.

“No, he’s your teammate.” Zyler piped in.

“What?!” The angered woman asked, shooting a disk at her blue haired acquaintance.

“Holy Crap, woman! Do not shoot at me!”

“What are you talking about he’s my teammate?” She steamed.

Kellson merely scratched his ear, “You missed me, girl. Kid, I'm not having a teammate that misses.” He said, grinning, “What a woman thing to do.”

Faster then before, Roery kicked the winged man into the tavern wall, holding him there with her foot under his chin. “That’s because it I shot you, you wouldn’t have much of a face left.” She explained, leveling her gun to his head.

There was a bit of commotion happening in the bar now. Some people were surprised by the sudden act of hostility. Most, however, applauded it.

The regicide grinned disarmingly, “Ah, I see. So you missed me because my natural charm and amazing physique stunned you, right?”

“Kellson, I must say, with each comment you become even more disgusting, and it's not wise to insult women when in their company.” One woman added, “Go Roery!”

“Roery, if your finger slips on the trigger, don't blame yourself. I'll just look the other way as well as most people.” A man named Ciaran stated.

“I would turn and glare at you, Bella but I'm kind of busy right now. Come back later. I'm just hesitant to shoot a woman with holy energy at point blank range unless I really don't like her. I do have morals, you know.” The pinned man blinked at Roery, “Uhhh...”

The former soldier cocked her head to the side and pulled back her foot, letting him slide to the ground. Turning she shook her head and strolled back to the other side of the room. Kellson mumbled something under his breath and stood up, brushing himself off. Soon the casual, somewhat hostel, nature of the tavern returned and the occupants began to converse again.

Kellson remained all but the center of attention, be it by telling curdle pick up lines, or questioning ones intelligence. Roery watched from a far as Zyler stood near her, who was laughing every now and then at the winged mans retorts.

“Let's try to get off the subject here. What do you humans or mortals like to do when you'er bored... or not fighting each other? I’m not too used to this realm yet.” Ciaran, the mystic, asked.

“When I'm bored, I'll find criminals and rend the flesh from their own bones.” Kellson piped in, “Or... I sleep.”

“Sounds like you lead a nice, full life.” One woman commented.

“Works for me. Your life is just boring walking around.”

Zyler couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Roery rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, “You wanted him to be on my team?

“Well, there was this one ti-” He whisper back.

“No.” She cut him off.

“Ya, but it'd-” Zyler started, but was cut off again.

“'Ey, Miss. Now I want to team up just because you don't -want- to.” Kellson interrupted. Roery looked hopelessly over at the regicide.

“Roery, I'd be wise not be on his team since I have no intention of fighting you. But if you are his ally, then I won't have much other choice.” Ciaran said.

“Roery, your screwen it all up. Stop it!” Exclaimed Zyler.

Roery glanced between the men and sighed, “Who’s the... fourth person?”

Zyler pointed to Zorlo, “The mini green giant.”

“... But... I don’t hate him either.” the blond woman frowned.

“Miss Roery, you should know that Ciaran is a complete wussy and that fighting him will not be difficult,” Kellson said. “And you don't hate me, right?” He added, grinning.

Roery considered her options for a second, then whispered in Zylers ear; “Are you sure I can’t fight him instead?” She asked, pointing to the regicide.

“No you can’t.”

The woman frowned, “... I might at least get to see him get hurt.” She turned back to the winged man, giving him a sweet smile, “Course I don’t hate you.”

“I've seen that smile before, miss. It was on a wolf.” Said Kellson, strolling towards her, “I reckon you just got a bad first impression, that's all. Right? No hard feelings?” He added, eyeing the plasma gun still held in her hand.

“Something tells me that her "plasma thingies" aren't really what you're eyeing.” A member of the crowd commented.

“Bow chicka bow wow. Heh, heh, heh.”

“Really, though. I like my head the way it is. Having it melted or something would be a pain in the arse.”

Roery walked up to Kellson and punched him hard in the face.

Menwhile, Zorlo was holding conversations with several others, and seemed to be out of the loop on the subject, “If this is a battle royal to decide who's fighting me, what benefit would I gain from being in it? Anyway,” he stated, looking over his foes. “You guys need to figure out what you're doing or else I'm going to be getting a good deal of time to travel.”

“No pickles, its a two on two. Roery and Kellson...” Zyler corrected, glancing at Roery standing over Kellson, “against you and Ciaran.”

“Hey! I was, um, looking at your eyes! They're bloody beautiful! It's amazing. Like emeralds. I dunno what they were talking about.”

Roery spun a disk launcher on her finger and leveled it at the winged man. Zyler chucked. “You know he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you, Roery”

“No, really. I wasn't kidding. Beautiful eyes. Yeah. Put the gun away? Please.”

Roery scowled at the regicide for a second and finally retracted her gun, “How did you get me into this?” She whispered to Zyler, deactivating her armor in a flash of blue light. She folded her arms, tilted her head to the side and gave Kellson a matter of fact smile.

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Kellson replied, grinning sheepishly, “...Don't suppose you've got a spare set of that armor and stuff, do you? 'Cause that'd be fun to kick Zorlo's arse around with.”

Roery laughed, “Not unless you want to be made into a manufactured clone soldier.” Her smile dimmed for a second as she glanced at the ground. She then looked back up at the winged man and smirked, “But if you start loosing really bad I might let you borrow a gun.”

“Ha! Me? Lose? What foolishness. I laugh at the very idea.”

<{~~~~~~~~~~O~~~~~~~~~~}>

Roery sighed heavily and buried her head in a pillow. Why had he left? How could he leave without saying goodbye...? Why so soon...?

Had it been a mistake? An accident? Was it too hard for him to say goodbye?... Did he just want to make a grand exit and leave people guessing...

As sad as one might think it is, Johnny Bones was just about her best friend. He was only person she trusted completely. Ever since she lost J... He was her source of security, the one person she could really rely on. He might not have known it, and from the relationship they had with each other, it could have easily been overlooked, but Roery didn’t have anyone else.

One could argue that they weren’t even that close. Their relationship revolved around pick up lines and teasing, with the occasional adventure thrown in here and there. But too Roery, it was more then that. She was drawn to his personality. She could see through the crud pick up lines and the tough exterior... He never ceased to make her laugh.

She only wished she had realized how much she needed him before he left...

The first spark of true friendship emerged on the night on the plateau. She had been there for Kellson, the only one that didn’t shun him for the way he acted. Of course, some of the things he had done had been out of line, but someone needed to look out for him. Roery had quite possibly saved his life that night, and she later learned that she had changed the hart of the man that had harmed her dear friend. Which is more then she could have hoped for.

They met again on the track of the doomed race. That’s when she learned that he had apparently died and came back as the undead, Johnny Bones. As much of a shock as that was to her, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that she never had to deal with his passing. That he had already gone and come back before she would see him again.

Roery had been forced into the race against her will, but Johnny had single-handedly turn the whole thing into a memorable experience. He had saved her life at one point, and it was only fitting when he was the first to cross over the finish line.

They soon met again at the Dome homeroom, where she found comfort being around the same people. Her relationship with Johnny seemed to let up a little during their time there. It seemed he was over hitting on her, as he might have respected her a little too much... Saw her as too much of a friend to shoot off pickup lines. It’s strange... that they almost found little in common once the flirting had ceased. She wished it hadn’t. She sometimes wished he would give her a wolf whistle, or take her flying like he did once. If that was the only why they would interact, then she would have been happy... she wished she could have been more brave, and spent more time with him anyway...

Chinatown was the next adventure they found themselves in. Like always, Johnny found himself pitted up against everyone. And once again, Roery was there to make sure he didn’t get himself killed... If only she could have kept doing that... She knew it was a stupid, selfish thing to wish for. After all, he had gone to heaven for saving ten thousand souls...

She couldn’t take it. She hated how there was nothing to be mad at. No one had taken him from her. He had gone there willingly, and for a great cause...

The blond haired girl shuttered slightly, crying into her pillow. Johnny you bastard... how could you leave me here... didn’t you know how much I need you?

“Mesfido.” The mystic spoke, but only to the archangel who had preformed the miracle. His former student turned to his voice and, after a few moments, realized who had spoke. “This place saddens me. Walk with me into the Dome.” Whispering to Elrick and Chronos to remain where they were, Kenjin walked, and where he did the rain seemed to part, towards the young deshi. “I understand that you and Jaina have resumed your training under my friend, Chronos. Is that right?” Mesfido offered him a slight smile, and nodded.

“Yes,” he replied. “He seems like a harsh sensei, but I am sure he is more then capable.”

“I sense sorrow in your voice, deshi. Are the funeral proceedings difficult for you?”

“It’s not that,” Mesfido answered, and shook his head. “It is just difficult to see someone so loved die.”

Kenjin smiled, and nodded. “I know what you mean,” he answered, and his avatar tapped its head ever so slightly. “I feel all the grief of the world, inside my mind. I can sense everyone’s sorrow, and it pains me. But I also feel when others die, and that saddens me too. Death is a difficult thing for me.”

“It is?” the angel asked, and raised his brow.

“One fears what one does not understand. In my case, it is the fact that I am eternally trapped in a place very much like death. The crossroads of the Universes. I can see everything there will ever be to see. I have seen Johnny Bones. I have seen his death, and I have seen a terribly sad force result from this. The Universes themselves weeps at the loss of such a person. It is…unusual. The Universes are normally accepting of death, but for Johnny Bones, it was different.”

“How so?”

The avatar massaged its brow momentarily, as though pained by some memory. “I heard many screams,” he answered, and refused to elaborate. Kenjin did, however, perk up a moment later. “Here. I believe she is somewhere nearby. We must find her, before the funeral begins.”

Mesfido seemed confused. “Who are we looking for, Master Kenjin?” he wondered aloud, and at this Kenjin smiled a little bit.

“Cadenza. I must find her,” he answered. “Only she can carve something fitting on that gravestone that Chronos constructed, and you made beautiful. Only when she finishes it should it be considered complete, young deshi.” The two continued their walk, the angel and the mystic, into the quiet halls of the Dome, in search of the teacher.

OoC: Sorry for the double post, but for complicated reasons, quick_silver20 is unable to post. So here it is.
Edit: Powershot is lightning fast.

Originally posted by quick_silver20
A black cloaked figure watched the funeral from farther away than the rest, with various degrees of wanting and not wanting to be there among the crowd, among the mourning.

There was in Johnny a person… a person who wanted to be loved. I knew him much less than some, and sometimes under his sweltering swagger his true intent was hard to see. Sometimes it was hard to see why so many women came to love him, hard to see how he could be loved at all. But his cocky grin amply covered up the fact that he was a caring human being who’s first desire was to live his life as he most wanted and to let everyone around him find their own way to do the same.

What are we, or who are we, in the end but selfish automatons who take our lion’s share from the human pool of emotions and resources and leave our waist and add doubt and remorse to canker what good others might take? How many of us can say we spent out lives giving when everything we do takes from that pool? What I haven’t mentioned is that one man’s waste is another’s bounty. If what I say is true, then Johnny’s waste was confidence, ego, adventure, and breaking from the box of normalcy. All our shoulders droop because what we didn’t see before he left us is that what he handed to us in abundance in the form of sharp retorts and insults he also gave to us in our ability to survive and to be honest with ourselves.

In that thought, the thought that he might be here now, leaning on a tree not too far away in his general posture of apathy, that he might be wearing a smug expression sourced from the fact that he can elicit such a mood from so many of his friends seems only appropriate and deserved.

As Lex stood there, lost in contemplation, a rather sharp gush of wind came along, and his current mood prevented him from reacting to it, and he fell to a knee.

Lex got up chuckling “That’s appropriate then, Johnny. If you couldn’t knock me down in life, you could get behind my back and force me down when I wasn’t ready. If the fact of it wasn’t the lesson you wanted to teach, then the reason for it was. No matter who you are, no matter how strong your arm, ever there is one stronger than you, no matter how smart, always one smarter, and if you can’t remember that, then just maybe God will send one who CAN remind you.

Zachary Leos, the Ice Elemental, couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit sad at what had happened. Zorlo had told the ice innate that Kellson had died, and, as if the first thing wasn't shock enough, that the regicide had come back to life. Much to Zachary's grand disdain, he also learned this "Johnny Bones" person had recently passed on for good. More then anything, the red haired youth felt frustrated. Another strong rival was gone from this world.

"GOD DAMMIT!" Zachary cried into the halls of the Dome, breathing heavily afterwards as he tried to calm down. Taking a full, deep breath, the elemental released his breath and looked forwards. Well, there would be many rivals in this world for the firebrand. Just because he didn't have a chance to fight with Bones didn't mean that he had to be angry. After all, so many were in mourning, how could he simply go about being mad. I may have hated you, Kellson, but I can't say anything mean about the truly dead. Zorlo will miss you most of all. Now who's gonna tell him he's wrong? the avenger asked himself with a smile and a laugh.

Zachary rested his left hand on the handle of his sword as he continued heading towards the fencer's door, intent on finding his associate. After all, the Aura Master seemed to have been locked up in his room for a few days. The squire had interest in finding out what was wrong with the fencer and get going. Surely, by now, Zorlo had something for him to do.

Suddenly, the red haired youth passed a familiar man and both people stopped, turning to each other. "Zorlo?" Zachary asked as he looked at his Master.

"Aye, squire. We have to be going. They are gathering," Zorlo stated with his normal smile.

"You seem happy. Also, I'm not your squire!"

"Yes, yes. You've stated that many a time. Doesn't mean I'll stop calling you it. Anyway, they're gathering. We shouldn't miss this. This funeral will be one to remember, my young friend."

"Considering who it is for, I couldn't agree more. Do you know how she is?"

"Cadenza... I'm sure she's worse then I was. I know he wouldn't want me to mourn him, but, instead move on with my life. I have to press on and train more to become stronger, for not only myself, but the weight I have to carry in having fought him. That is all," the Aura Master stated with a smile.

Zachary nodded his head and continued to walk to the right of the fencer. They were heading to the grave.

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the grave, to which the fencer found himself staring at two familiar figures. The large man clad entirely in black known as Chronos, the Dark Eye, and the blonde haired Blood Master, Elrick. The fencer headed over without any second thought, his squire not far behind him. There was one thing the fencer had to do before others arrived.

"Deshi, you are here early," spoke the metal man.

"Big guy, who're these kids?" Elrick asked as he looked at the two.

"The taller one is my assistant, Zorlo. The other is his assistant, Zachary, if I recall properly," the dark clad being said in a voice that made shivers run up Zachary's spine.

"Y-yes sir!" the ice elemental responded, shaking.

Zorlo rested his hand on the ice warrior's shoulder and the ice mage ceased his shaking as the fencer stepped forwards. "You may not know me, Elrick, the Blood Master, but I know all too well of you," the fencer said as he rolled his hands into fists. "You're the reason I've lost two friends in a short period of time."

"What the hell are you-" the Blood Master half asked as he was cut off by a powerful punch to the gut from Zorlo, which caused Elrick to slide back about six feet, clenching his stomach, more from shock then pain, as smoke rose from the Aura Master's hand.

"That's for the first of my friend's that died recently. Johnny's passing was unexpected and hard, but at least he died having fulfilled his purpose. This other person's death is a direct result of your actions. I'll make you pay for what you did to this man," the green haired man stated as he shook his hand out.

"Zorlo!" Chronos said in a commanding voice, causing Zachary again to shake in terror, "What are you doing?!" the metal warrior asked as he looked at his former student.

"I'm throwing the gauntlet, if you will. Elrick of Red, one day, you and I will fight, and I will be the hand of God that takes vengeance for my fallen comrade. Until then, I pray you go to church and beg forgiveness for your sins. I've lost a powerful rival, and an even more powerful friend, but at least I can give my friend a proper and suitable rest. I know not if he's left this realm or not, but one day soon, he shall, I fear. When that day comes, you'll feel the proper wrath, for you are the immediate cause of this person's death."

"Oh?" Elrick asked as he stood to his full height, looking at the shorter fencer, "And who is this man?"

"You'll know one day. Trust me, there is no way you wouldn't. After that day, your days are numbered, Blood Master," Zorlo stated without fear as he looked at the grave. "However, this is a nice grave. Mayhap you should begin digging your own, Elrick. I'll make sure you don't come back this time."

"Tch. Dammit!"

The shard around her neck pulsed as her fist shaved the top of a nearby rock. Raisha stood up and looked at her brother, who leaned on the nearby door, looking into the hallway.

This was the garden where Cadenza had the werewolf attack Rain for their first 'test'. The traps in the place were disabled and silent now, just like everything and everyone else in the Dome. The Reaper rested herself on the rock that she had just hit and looked across at the third person in the garden.

This person sat upon another rock, with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. The girl's purple eyes looked through her glasses, staring into space. Arina was caught up in her very own thoughts about Johnny. She remembered the time when she had tried to fight him without using her powers--a bad thing to do.

Her thumb finger swept across her lips, as if she were in that moment once more, wiping the blood away.

She couldn't help but smile at Johnny's amazement when she changed her form right in front of him, healing herself in the process.

Arina lifted her eyes to see Raisha's hand in front over her.

"Come on," the Reaper whispered, half-smiling, "it's time to go."

Rain smiled when she took her hand. He had his own thoughts about Johnny; from what he learned from his sister and Arina and from what he saw for himself.

A holy warrior, huh? Ten thousand souls...Even I couldn't have saved that much in my whole lifetime.

The three began down the twisted hallway of roots before emerging where the ceremony was supposed to take place. A number of people were already there, including Zachary and Zorlo, who was standing over the grave.

OoC: I was given a moment to come online, and I already had this written, so here, even if it's a bit shorter than I would have liked...

IC:
As a police inspector, Tracey de Carlo dealt with death often. Murders, assassinations (murders for the rich, given a fancier name because someone could afford to print the extra letters in the newspaper), suicides; the whole spectrum. Over the years, she had tried to steel herself against the basic human emotions that washed over one when they first heard of a death: the pity, the grief, and, in many cases, the anger. She…was never really very good at it. Sure, on the outside, she could appear to be. Give off the impression that death was like gravity; she knew it was there and that it affected the world, but she never saw it and it affected people less than others (of course, mass generally didn’t have an impact in death here, but the inspector was still working out this analogy.) But on the inside, she was a quivering bunch of nerves, and a heart that had sunk faster than a rowboat with a bowling ball-sized hole in the hull, and at any given moment, the floodgates holding back her tears would let loose and everything would come rushing forth.

That was how she felt now. She had trekked across the jungle of Florheim to the Dome’s door in her world when the news first reached the station, grasping her partner’s badge tightly in her trembling, freckled hands. Romero had turned to her that morning with the most solemn look she had ever seen him give, and handed her that badge, still shiny and warm and reddish from the forge. That was the universal sign, a sign with no words, that you were now, to put it delicately, a single officer again. That the seat beside you in the squad car was going to be cold and lonely for a while and when you called for back-up, it would have to be via a radio to officers miles away, and not to someone running along with you, ready to shoot anyone who got in your duty’s way.

He had been a good officer, Tracey thought, a sad, shaking little vision of tan and red wandering the Dome halls. He was different from all the other officers we had ever had. He got under my skin, and he joked about me, but…in a pinch, he was there too. When we were chasing Arietta Madrigal, I yelled at him and put him down and acted so arrogantly…but we found a sort of rhythm, and he could come right back with a retort and yet still be there to fight off those thugs and anyone else. He had my back. In that, he truly was a Watson—Holmes could always count on him to help out when the criminals got dangerous and physical. He always could rest assured in having that trump card—Watson waiting with his service pistol, or a ready headlock and a strong arm. But even Bones had more than that—he had a wit to match my own, insofar as that is possible. He could keep up. There won’t be another officer in Rubato quite like him.

There was an unspoken thought there, lingering around a word Tracey rarely had ever used to describe someone. She had police partners and coworkers and bosses and trainees, but…who had she ever really called a friend? There was never time for that…being an officer was generally a 24/7 job, and even when she was off-duty, she was on-duty in her mind, ever-alert to the presence of crime. With her partners in the past and her squad of ogres in the present, there had been no connection beyond there being a common job to do. They were all just accessories to her; less competent arms to her central, detective brain. But with Bones…there had been another bright mind. For a while, she had another intellect that could make her laugh at herself, and that could see things she couldn’t…and that was irreplaceable. To her, that…was a friend.

I’ll miss you, Johnny…my friend.

The sleuth had followed the general flow of people in the halls for some time. Now she found herself standing by the entrance to a courtyard, where a few figures were gathered by a grave.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People were coming and going. Some she could see, through the watery mist that seemed to be floating before her eyes, had come and patted her on the shoulder, or muttered some words, or bowed their heads. Louis Fritz’s little blonde protégé with the flute had come by and played her a beautiful elegy of her own composing. The minstrel himself had sung something.

Now, Prince Hunter Merridale stood before her, smiling the saddest attempt at a cheerful smile she had ever seen. Something, she was sorry to tell him, about the tears in his hazel eyes was ruining the intended effect--but this thought was almost getting the gypsy herself to smile. Merridale had always been Johnny’s favorite figure to use irony on.

“Milady…are you all right?” he asked, addressing the question to the shadow of her hunched-over figure sitting against a garden wall. He couldn't meet her eyes.

She looked up, but still her gaze was on some point beyond the prince’s head. “Some ogres nicknamed me 'Bleary-Eyes'. Despite the almost painful lack of creativity, I’d like to have them brought here so I can pop ‘em in the faces hard enough to make their mothers cry. If the ugly buggers have mothers, that is.”

Hunter laughed a small laugh, but it was tinged with pity. Cadenza hated the sound of that laugh.

“So, you’re in higher spirits then? You would not take to threatening those terrible fellows were you not feeling more yourself, right?” His voice, the gypsy thought, was pathetically hopeful. He really was trying so hard...but there was just nothing he could say.

Have you ever felt so lonely, Hunter, that even when you’re in a building full of more people than you can imagine, you just feel empty? That was what she wanted to say. That was what her heart was saying. But what came out was, “I’ll be okay.” Lies were never far from a Madrigal’s tongue--they were almost a survival instinct.

“Some of the other teachers are searching for you, milady,” the prince said after a moment. “They have something they wish to show you.”

“They do, do they?” Cadenza rose to her feet, with something of the defiant air she always had when things turned to the subject of the Dome or its other teachers. She wasn’t sure who she thought she was fooling, but... “Well…I guess I should go out and make myself found, eh? Who’s looking for me this time?”

“An angel named Mesfido and another man known as Kenjin, milady. I believe they have constructed a monument, and…wish to have you inscribe an epitaph.”

“Ah…right.” This wasn’t the first Cadenza had heard of this. She clutched the wrinkled paper she held in her pocket; the paper where she had tried to write something fitting in her boyfriend’s honor. No matter how many times she had tried…nothing had felt right. Eventually, she had settled on this:

“Here we honor
The man who could
Make us cry; whether
It be in laughter or
Sadness.

Here we honor
The man who could
Make our hearts beat
Faster; whether it was
In the heat of battle or
With feelings of love.

Here we honor
The man etched into
Our memories; whether
He first entered them by
His wit or with a well-
Thrown fist.

Here we honor
A friend, a lover, and a
Fighter, and one of the
Toughest men to ever walk
The earth.

R. I. P. Johnny Bones”

Hunter cleared his throat, and she glanced back up from the world of words and memories.

“Er, sorry…let’s go. This garden’s sort of out of the way, but…someone will spot us if we go near the main courtyard. I have a feeling that the monument…well…let’s just go, okay?”

“Fashionably late, I suppose,” Cain muttered. It seemed as if Ziran and himself had been the last to arrive. There was already a decently sized group of people milling about. Adonai could hear a few exchanging stories about the deceased. Some others were catching up with old friends and mutual acquaintances of Johnny Bones.

“Do you see the green guy?” Ziran asked. His face was still wet with tears, and the vampire felt a bit dry in comparison. Cain himself hadn’t shed a single tear for Johnny. He simply didn’t know him long enough to feel any real sorrow over his death.

The Vampiric Assimilator looked through the crowd for any sign of Zorlo. It didn’t take him very long to find the Aura Master, as his green hair stuck out like a sore thumb. He pointed the green-haired man out to his Windigo comrade, and Ziran left him to go speak with him.

Cain watched Kunto for a moment before shifting his attention back to his own reason for coming. He decided to wait for a little while before seeking out Cadenza. As the closest person to Johnny, she was probably being consumed by half-hearted condolences and wallowing in her memories of the deceased. Adonai would need to speak to her privately, after the others were done saying what they felt they had to say.

Adonai yawned and put an earphone of his iPod into his ear. The first song to play was, ironically enough, “Remedy”, the song that led to his first conversation with Johnny Bones. After a minute of listening to the song, he changed it to something else. He didn’t think he liked, “Remedy”, anymore.

For the first time in his new life, Monroe Vossler, the bounty hunter, didn't know what he felt. Unlike his normal, unfeeling self, he was overcome with all kinds of emotions. Monroe was absolutely furious Johnny had died before he got his chance to beat his head in; Monroe was sad that another chance to prove himself had vanished; Monroe was absolutely furious about past things, mostly involving Tracey, but as he stared at her from a distance, he remained silent. Pain, anger and sadness were all washed away by an unknown feeling. The normal hatred the dark clad man felt, along with his self revolving and world revolving anger vanished.

An empty sigh escaped Monroe's lips as he walked through the people at the Dome, moving towards Tracey de Carlo. A different kind of sadness swept over him as he looked at the girl. This sadness didn't involve himself, but her. He hated the fact she was in so much pain, and yet he could do nothing. He took a step towards the girl, but stopped, looking away. I should talk to her, but what am I going to say? I absolutely hated Johnny, so how can I hope to console her about this loss to her. I... I'm still mad at her... but... I need to say something.

The bounty hunter moved closer to Tracey and took a deep breath, intent on at least trying to console her. After all, this would probably be the last chance he would get before he went to her world. Word had it that something big, some bounty he'd only just heard of, had appeared there. Monroe didn't pay mind to that as he rested his hand on Tracey's shoulder and cast a rather awkward smile at her. As much as he fought it, he was sad to say good bye to Johnny Bones. If for selfish reasons or not, Monroe would honestly miss the man that bothered him.

"I'm... sorry... for your loss," he told her as he looked down at her. The modern fencer looked forwards at the crowd, and then back down at Tracey. "I know... you're really hurt by this. That guy... you're captain person, told me what happened. I came here to see you and... to say... I'm here for you," he told her shakily. This whole thing felt strange to him, but he felt a need to be there for her, even if only for a little while. "If... you know... you want me here, that is," he told her nervously, still shaking.

o=)------------------(=o

Zorlo turned his head to look at the crowd, but remained silent. Before long, the Aura Master found three familiar figures standing near him. The fencer smiled at Rain, Arina and Raisha. "Hello, you three. How are you doing?" the green haired man asked with a smile. "And if you don't know him, this is Zachary, my squire," Zorlo told them as he rested his hand on the red haired boy's mop top.

Zachary slipped out from under Zorlo's hand and pointed at himself. "The name's Zachary Leos, the Avenger of the Alliance of Tasogare, and I am not Zorlo's squire!" Zachary yelled in annoyance.

Zorlo laughed, and as soon as he turned his head, Ziran slammed into him, hugging the green haired man close. The Aura Master smiled and patted the cat boy on the head. "Ziran, I'm happy to see you again." The cat boy nodded his head as he cried into the fencer's jacket, but the green haired man only smiled as he patted Ziran on the back. "Please, just cry it out. If it helps you feel better, then cry your little heart out. There is someone I wish to speak to, but that can wait."

The Aura Master addressed everyone that he knew in one sweeping thought, "To everyone here I know, it is an honor you've come. I'm glad to see such a glorious turn out. He would be proud, although not as proud as he is now, I'm sure," the fencer joked, knowing that, mayhap, Johnny would have wanted one of Zorlo's normally dry, humorless jokes on someone else's pride. After that, the group resumed waiting for the proceedings to continue.

OoC: And now to try to include some of Duke's favorite minor characters from "The Chain of Pursuit" and other things. A very cluttered post ensues, which only maybe Z (and Duke himself) would understand...

IC:
Hunter watched as Cadenza twirled an icy-blue amulet around on a shiny chain; she had a sort of nostalgic look hidden under the heavier grief as she followed the golden arcs with her eyes. The prince got the vague sense that he had seen the thing somewhere before, but it didn't quite register where until he caught a whiff of the scent of some small, strange...familiar mammal, and saw the quill fall from Cadenza's vest.

"The...hedgehog? The stubborn little creature gave the man's old amulet to you?"

Hunter had, in his surprise, forgotten that Cadenza was a master of the ancient criminal art of the oblique, evasive answer. Where's the safe, the cops ask? Why, isn't that a spiffy hat you're wearing! So nice that it would be worth locking up in a safe, yes indeedy! And now you've forgotten your original line of questioning, and are none the wiser about where the safe is.

Hunter had also forgotten that in nine conversations out of ten, she would use that art on him.

"You know today is the first day Spiny Norman hasn't tried to shish-kebab me when I talked to him?" she said. "He just whuffled. And while I consider that a personal victory, I can't just sit and rest on my laurels all day."

As if to emphasize that last point, the woman rushed off towards the courtyard entrance before the prince's mind could run that through a thorough inspection.

"Milady, waaaaait!"

---------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Hunter caught up with the gypsy, she was already engrossed in conversation with a tall, burly man with a big, tan face. He looked...Rubatoian. The scrutiny of a minute revealed that this man was the Madrigals' family friend, the blacksmith Omar Vargas, without all the oil and grime that usually factored into any description of his appearance. This was the first time the prince could identify the man's ethnicity as something other than "Sludgeman".

“Methinks a’ Señora will have many of da suits now that he is gone…”

“…You mean ‘suitors’, Omar?”

“Ah, yeah. Those.”

“I guess…”

The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air and reminded Cadenza of something. Her face brightened.

“Ah, incidentally, Omar…is there a Mrs. Vargas?”

There was a faint sort of thud...it sounded almost like a heart dropping out of place. Hunter found that he had to check his pulse. He was relieved to find it was still there.

Omar's face was just one beaming smile. It could have illuminated a small solar system. "Oh!" he cried, " 'denza, I thought you’d a’ never ask! Why, I’m flattered that—"

Cadenza looked mortified. She found it hard to do that in a way that, at the same time, wouldn’t offend poor Omar. "—No, no, Vargas! Not me…erm…you’re a great catch, but…I’m, as you understand, not ready to move on, and…anyway…I’m asking for a friend from back home."

Hunter glanced frantically from Vargas to his friend. He felt lightheaded.

“Uhhh…is she…malleable? Lustrous? Have good conductivity?” Omar was a stranger to adjectives not related to metals.

Cadenza felt like she was back in chemistry class. “Er…she’s not brittle, but…I don’t think you can hammer her into thin sheets. Actually, I’m pretty sure you can’t. Not thin ones, anyway. And…if she were wet, I’d imagine you could run a current through her, though I wouldn’t recommend it. As for lustrous…her hair is, sorta. Her eyes…in the right light, they probably could be. Teeth…" the gypsy stumbled on her words. Big and red were just about the only words she had ever used to describe Officer Montag. Trying to describe her now in the terms of the sort of things Omar wanted to know was like trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. It just didn't work.

"Teeth..." she resumed, "...aren’t bad. Umm…if you let her run a bit, she can work up a good shine…so long as you don’t mind the odor…but, ah…why don’t you ask about some adjectives that can be applied to living beings?”

It was a novel concept—but the only living thing that came to Omar’s mind at first was the black armor-shelled turtle from off the coast of la Isla do Noir. He mentally shrugged and decided to give it a shot.

“Is she…even-tempered?”

“Yeah…yes.”

This was looking promising, Cadenza thought.

“How often does she mate?”

...Never mind. She decided that the brain cells that had mistakenly thought this was looking promising should be shot.

"I…" she coughed and looked at Hunter. His face had turned a ghastly, horrified white. "I...couldn’t say.”

“Does…she bite?”

“Only if you wave a sausage in front of her, I think.”

The words had only just left her lips when Cadenza realized a group of people from the other side of the courtyard were moving towards her. She felt her heart sink. Omar could only distract her from the reality of things for a little while--the ugly damn truth would always be back, like a persistent telemarketer who's got a quota to meet. You couldn't escape it.

A sort of quiet sorrow washed over her like a tidal wave.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Ogres’ names were often very literal—Mumbler mumbled, Hammerhead’s noggin was shaped like that of a hammerhead shark, and Snotty…well, you get the picture. It was because of this fact that Gragnor felt he was quite unique in the annals of ogre history. No one was quite sure what Gragnor meant. Some conjectured that his real name was “Abner” and he had just grumbled on the first syllable when telling it to the ogre-to-Gaian translator, but Captain Buffón was not about to pay for another hour with the translator, so Gragnor it was.

Gragnor liked to think this set him apart—and this is why he took the initiative to follow Ms. De Carlo. Someone had to watch over the boss.

Now he stood, watching her as she took comfort in the embrace of some dark-clothed man, and scratched his head in confusion. Ogres didn't hug. What did this all mean?

"Please...stay with me here, Monroe," he heard her say.

OoC: I know I tried to include too many things all at once here, and since I'm also rusty it's all sort of blah, but Omar, the ogres, and everyone else referenced had to be mentioned for Duke.

Desolation.

Slowly, the townspeople flock and line the shorelines -- their faces palled red with the sunset, and their eyes reflecting the silently flickering carcass of the Vanguard as the foul flames reap through its hull like some affliction, far out in the bay. Men, women and children pine for their friends, husbands and fathers -- and silently hope as the final magazine blasts the ship down its final port that some survived.

And morning.

A shore search ensues. The blackened corpse of the Vanguard perches out on the rocks, a blackened pool of water radiating from its shattered hull. Flotsam, floating remnants of a once-great vessel, the occasional body -- floating gracefully just below the surface of the freezing waves, a finger or a foot tracing delicate patterns in its final shadow of motion.

A captain, organizing the debris into rows of usable salvage.

A figure, cloaked.

An item, hidden.

~:|:~

Jhans swims to shore, slowly thrusting at the water with his paws. It had taken hours to get to shore with the tide again him -- and he had to admit, igniting the powder stow was a bit... much. That agent seemed keen to keep his case out of the bear's hands, really keen. And who knew where the man, and his possessions, were now.

And so, slowly, he makes his way up the beach.

He had to admit -- he was slightly relieved. He had no idea what so many had lost their lives for, and it was evidently out of his fur forever. The gloomy morning sun meekly shone through several miles of obstinate cloud, and completely failed to dry the wet bear, but the drags of hair got plaited with dirt and hung in filthy locks around his body.

Turning right down an alley from the empty main street, he enters a warehouse, whereupon waits his armour.

And catches a scent of aniseed, saltwater and gunpowder.

Slowly opening the door, Jhans steels himself and then dashed for a stack of crates concealing him from the rest of the room. No sound. Lying slowly, to his knees, to his paws, he rolls to the next pile. Death by a thousand bullets completely failed to happen. Panting, Jhans looks ahead of him.

A figure, outlined by dusty light, perched on a table with hands in lap. A threadbare black jacket hangs around him, greasy and torn, like a vulture's mangy, greasy coat, bald head perched like an egg upon the silver stand of his sideburns. He eyes the bear with tired, heavy-lidded arms.

"Frenn," He breathes. Jhans is exposed -- no armor, crouched low on the ground. The man's eyes bore into his, as he pulls forth from the depths of his coat, a small, wooden case -- no bigger than a sheet of paper, and as thick as your thumb.

"Twenty gold pieces and the assurance that you will never take passage on one of my ships again ever. You're too dangerous to have around." Sheepishly, Jhans stands.

"Agreed," Jhans says -- bringing himself to his full height. The man, who Jhans now recognized as Commodore Grissom, tracked him with those deep, stolid eyes -- his face unwavering in its deep-jowled scowl. "You can find your gold in the mouth of the gargoyle above the back entrance of the Watch house." After a moment's hesitation, Grissom laid the box on the table next to Jhans, and hopped to the floor -- with surprising agility. The gold was there, but Jhans guessed that the promise of keeping well away from the Letterman fleet overcame the questionable payment. How many ships had he wrecked? Four? Five?

"And what would I find if I were so curious as to probe the other gargoyles?" The question was quite level, and altogether more innocent.

"Do you value a hand with all its fingers on?"

"Yes,"

"Then you will not."

"Ah. Right."

~:|:~

Once clad, Jhans examines the casket. Sliding a claw carefully along the tar seal, he finds dry wood beneath the flaking outer boards. The iron lock, weakened by rust, snaps beneath his fingers. Tentatively, the week-old hinges creaking with premature age,

It opens to reveal two dozen or so glass spheres, set in a handsome green velvet bed. Carefully, Jhans extracts one. It is the size of a quail's egg, with an hourglass-shaped imperfection running through it, frozen in the structure -- like a snapshot of time watching a falling lace cloth. Running round the orb was a band of shining red brass, high in copper -- with a multitude of protruding metal spires, thousands -- row upon row, encircling the structure.

Jhans places it back among its brethren, and falls to sleep, case in the trapdoor storage below him.

~:|:~

Now, this story isn't one of a day. Two weeks passed before Jhans found the use of the casket's contents, and another eight before he found a machine to implement them. During this time news spread. 'A mighty warrior felled to the east', they said. 'Kellson of the Choras campaigns slain to the earth'. A call on the wind, a whisper to the unknowing and a cry to the concerned.

Jhans remembers reminiscing in his cave: A good man. Accountable to noone, an unstoppable wall of rage and flame. A primal force unto his own. One of the first humans Jhans had met and but the second within his new life outside of he bear nations. He kneeled to the sunset before turning and facing the back of the save -- innocent in sleep.

He knew loss well.

~:|:~

"Here we are Miss Boden, Bear of honour,"

A dusty chamber in the guild of historians which Jhans had been led to by William -- a friend of Asha's; A scruffy lad who had learned how to address a bear of the north out of one of the many ancient books kept here.

"Thanks, Will. I'll be fine form here." She smiled at him, and he blushed, bowed, and retreated -- his tattered cotton clothes and plain waistcoat flapping about him.

Jhans understood little about human hierarchy -- it had something to do with the size of your hat... But William seemed to command any situation with his gentle grace, he very clearly had an air of not slaying some beast of yore only because he was too busy studying how to do it cleaner and more humanely.

When the door was safely latched, the bear turned his attention to the massive bronze machine Asha was dusting. running her hands across the bronze rings, clearly in awe of the elegant motion as they holistically slid into motion at the slightest touch. In the centre was a glass orb the size of Jhans's fist, as wrought with imperfections as those Asha carried in her shoulder bag, and on the opposite wall -- a projecting screen.

"We put them here, I think --" Asha murmured, indicating a set of dimples in on of the arms. Fishing the casket from her bag, she gently removed the contents, and slotted them into place. They fitted perfectly into their places -- making a soft sound as the wild protrusions on the gold band brushed gently against the strips of metal on the side of its container. All in place, Asha lit the brilliant slow-burning magnesium backlight -- reflecting a fantastically empty image onto the screen.

"It's read now -- you just have to spin this arc." She looked sheepish.

"Thank you, child. Leave me."

"Alright. I'll be outside." She brushed past him -- maybe concerned, maybe nervous, maybe fearful.

As the door clicked behind him, Jhans approached the machine on its dais and, slowly, set the rings into motion.

At first he tried to spin it fast, but the ball bearings caught and the jerk caused him to let go, but it continued to accelerate. The orbs began to turn and twist in their holds, the protrusions catching on the musical sounders and making a noise first like rain on a bell, and then slowly becoming more like speech. As the other rings joined the dance and span faster and faster around one another Jhans stepped back just as the dynamo clicked into place.

The contraption stood suddenly still, apart from the largest ring and several smaller ones spinning within and around it, all at an incredible speed. And then a 'thunk' as the lantern screen fell and the show began.

Light was refracted from the magnesium lantern, through each of the orbs in turn, through th larger orb, and then onto the screen. It all moved so fast that it merged, almost seamlessly, into one image.

A skeleton in a bar, trenchcoat and trilby and purple sweatband. Taking one swig over and over as the words from the rivulets repeated themselves again and again: all show form a low angle, as if a fleeting moment captured in secret.

"Hah! These rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. It is I, Kellson Bones! Out to save a thousand so..."

Jhans' eyes flickered across the image as the machine repeated itself. It was almost an accusation, a proclamation of fact to the unworthy listener.

"Hah! These rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. It is I, Kellson Bones! Out to save a thousand so..."

The bear grinned as the machine gradually slowed, and the image faded into incoherency. He's alive...

...and dead. Shame, yes,

but dead things can't die, yes? What an asset our old friend can be now to us!

He opened the door.

"Asha, it is time for us to visit the greatest warrior that I know."

~:|:~

This is not a story of a day. It took years before Jhans had departed Sondossa, traversed the world in searching and lost his friend a second time.

And many legends sprung forth from this moment. Some know that he kneeled by the point of ascension. Some have heard that he raided a local inn and drenched the grave in ale. Some think that he fastened a plate of his precious armour onto the monument.

Some say that he shed a single tear.

And some say that's laughable.

But no-one can say what went on in his mind. Jhans withdrew into a very personal reverie for a long time and suffered alone, silently.

But only the trees saw him discover something amazing. Sleeping amongst the leaf mould in the quiet of dawn, they heard:

"Eat him and you're dead...

...Hahahaa..."

Monroe watched as she hugged him and felt what little bits of anger and sorrow fade away. He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her as well. A grunt echoed and Monroe cast the ogre standing near him a less then kind glance. The creature grunted, something Monroe would normally have taken as a sign of the thing wanting to fight, but just returned to hold Tracey. For him, this was the most right thing that had ever come to him, and he couldn't help but enjoy it.

Aside from the stupid ogre that seemed to be completely baffled by the dark clad man and his boss, the modern fencer didn't really take note of too many others. Surely "Green Hair" Zorlo, as he had been commonly denoted as on wanted posters, was here with his associate, the "Avenger" Zachary. Even so, the bounty hunter didn't care right now. He had to help Tracey to feel better at that moment. Her pain... it was awful... it made Monroe question every action he had ever taken in life.

The death of someone so loved brought into perspective the notion of death itself. Monroe had always told himself that if he died, no one would miss him. In this moment, all of those whom he had killed rushed into his mind and settled in to just how painful the whole notion was. How could he have been so blind and foolish until this moment. There would be people that missed him if he died. Even people that hate you, and possibly more then people that care for you, miss someone when they die. Johnny had, through his death, shown Monroe this. the only thing it didn't answer for the former assassin was: is it better to die loved or hated?

o=)--------With Zorlo and Zachary--------(=o

The Aura Master and Ice Elemental continued to walk along through the gardens. Troves of people had passed by them, but they didn't pay any mind to most of the others, searching for a few figures in particular. Zorlo had said hello to everyone he had seen so far that he wished to, so now all that left were the few that were eluding him. With luck, Zorlo had located the aura of whom he was searching for, even if she didn't want to be found.

To Zachary, seeing Cadenza was both a blessing and a curse, just as being around Zorlo was. She was bitter and rude to him, but he didn't care. He'd give her his condolences and be done with it. He truly felt sorry for her, since he, too, knew the loss of someone he truly cared for, but to his knowledge, at least, that person he wished to save still lived, even if Zorlo said it was impossible to save her. The reality of that wasn't as bad as whatever Cadenza was going through, Zachary guessed, but the pain was still very real.

As for the Aura Master, who had seen Selene die in front of him, he knew all too well this pain. He could recall a discussion that he and Johnny had found themselves having one day at the Dome in that room and recalled himself telling the dead man, although Zorlo lamented the fact he didn't know if Cadenza had been there. It seemed so long ago, yet it was only a few weeks time. Tragedy, Zorlo had noted, seemed to slow time down more then even the Dome itself.

Finally, Zachary and Zorlo had located Cadenza and, much to Zorlo's amusement, Prince Hunter. "Hello, Prince Hunter, lady Cadenza," Zorlo said with a bow.

"A prince..." Zachary stated, having a kind of disdain for royalty as he had suffered greatly as a youth in a principality. The ice innate then looked at the gypsy. "Cadenza, I'm sorry for your loss. I wish I could say more, but I'm at a loss for words on this one. I hope you feel better in time." In those words, few as they were, Zach conveyed his whole feelings towards her. He didn't want to burden her with a long monologue and wanted to say what he needed to and go. Luckily, that was what he had done.

Zorlo returned his glance to the shadow mage. If he were at his best, he would have given her a great epic of thoughts and feelings and a river of emotional sentiments, but he knew that wasn't what she wanted. "I'm sorry. He was a good man, and will be sorely missed." Zorlo, who, in less words then Zachary, said everything he would have in a convoluted manner, in less then a paragraph. He knew it was all Cadenza wanted. She and Johnny had always thought he spoke too much, so it was best not to waste a breath here.

The Fencer of Tasogare bowed one more time and turned from her. "If you need anyone to talk to, Cadenza, I'll be in my quarters. I know you dislike me, but... I think this has profoundly effected us both. You more then I, I'm certain, but still... I guess what I'm saying is I'm here to help, if you want," was all the fencer could muster to say as he moved back towards where he had been. He'd left Ziran to talk to Rain and Raisha and Arina, so the fencer knew he would need to get back shortly.

As for the ice mage, he turned towards Hunter and, in one swift move, drew Mobius and rested the blade against the prince's neck. "With as much as I hated Kellson, he and I had one thing in common: hatred of you royal types. Unlike him, I don't go around claiming I'm doing anyone's work by my own, but killing rich people is a good deal of fun. However, startin' a fight here would be stupid. So, for now," Zachary said as he sheathed his blade, "show me to where Fritz is, if you know. I need to talk to him."