The story is, amazingly, not only in progress, but getting somewhere.  I thought it might be done, but apparently I/we need to expand it out a bit more.  But it's underway and going well, and I thought folks would like to know.

I don't *believe* he did that!

I *hate* dying, and no, I didn't need the reminder that drowning *sucks*, thanks a lot, Connor, and-- Come to think of it, if I was home, Mama'd still be scrubbing my mouth out with soap.

Connor did apologize, at least -- twice, the second time after Aidan finished yelling at him (none of which I understood, but he sure as hell did), which was after she'd fussed over me. Then *I* yelled at him, and Alex and Xan taught me some new (well, to me) insults when I ran short. Bad thing is, some of the insults made me *and* Connor laugh. At the same time, damn it. A perfectly good, completely justified explosion -- ruined.

At least I got a really *good* hot dinner out of it. Alex's lasagna is almost worth drowning for, and Aidan's garlic bread... I need to send Nona that recipe. She'll love it. Anyway, hot bath, hot meal, really good chianti that Connor brought along specifically as an apology for this -- he's almost forgiven. Almost.

I have to say: if I hadn't seen Connor practicing katas completely underwater, I'd have never believed his story about he just wanted to see if I could breathe water. Connor let me half-drown -- he *thought* -- to find out. His idea of half.... About my only consolation is that it turns out Ramirez (Connor's teacher, and man, he sounds like he was a complete blast, when he wasn't a complete bastard or lech) tried this on Connor *and* all three of the others, too: Alex, Xan, and Aidan. Seems it worked on Connor and on Teach's sister, Rihana. I'd have loved to have seen that. Connor promised he'd tell me the full story of his first time, too. He sounded like parts of it were pretty embarrassing, so I'm looking forward to it.

Wonder if it was half as embarrassing as explaining to Teach how he 'accidentally' drowned me?

For that matter, I wonder what other stories I can get out of him? He does owe me after all. And we brought plenty of alcohol, "to encourage family history," Teach said. Right. I think I'm caught up on this for the night. I'm cooled down, or warmed up, anyway.

( Storm Crow )

More... later. Yeah, that's it *g*

Rafferty Conlan
Paris, France - Dec. 28, 1999

I wake up like this a lot. Heart pounding, skin soaked, and the small hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. It's not the only part of me that is. Hairs on my arms up, and my cock hard as hell, and at the same time my hands already reaching for my blade. Eyes wide open, looking for something I can't see. I keep a light on when I sleep now, and it's not just to make sure I see where the sword might be coming from.

It's never a dream, or if it is, I don't remember it. That's really terrifying. The dreams I do remember are bad enough, but this isn't those. I don't know what the dream or dreams is, but it's just not the same. Like not knowing leather from denim with my fingers in the dark. That different. Unmistakable. But if my usual dreams are acid wash denim, and sometimes the acid's burned all the way through, this dream is leather from something that's not alive anymore. Sharkskin, maybe. T Rex. Or those fucking raptors from Jurassic Park. Yeah. Like that. Old and fast and sleek and smart. Cooperating to make you scream your throat raw while they peel the flesh off bones.... No wonder I wake up like that, if that's what I can remember.

The regular dreams... they're not the reasons I'm afraid. They should be, though. Most of my line's gone. Wiped out, dead, ex-line, feet up or at least heads flown off their shoulders. Forgot the last syllable and opened the book anyway? Fuck, I don't know! What I do know is that someone managed to kill Owain. And Johannes, and my teacher, Enrique. It left me rich -- Enrique made me his heir -- but it scares me. A lot. Who could do that? How? I fought Owain twice. Both times I ended up on the ground with a sword at my throat. I never had a chance, although the second time I lasted longer. Long enough, I guess. Oh, I know what happened to Henslowe's student. Mark, I think his name was. We only talked twice. My age, about. Nice guy. I think that was the problem, as they saw it. I hope it was at least quick.

Enrique thought the Game was an invention of the devil some days. Other days he saw it as God's will, us against Satan's agents. Those were the bad days, when he raved about 'giants among men' and 'nephilim' and 'daughters of man' and 'sluts, destroyed by the pure light of the angels.' Enrique was scary enough when he was praying. When he was raving, I kept my damn head down, all 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' and studied the Bible so he'd leave me alone. I can recite it cover to cover. In Latin. Only Latin I know, but it's plenty.

Enrique's gone, though. He never showed up after the line war. I didn't keep in contact with many of the line, but I know a few things. I knew where they were based. I know how to hire investigators, what explanations to offer. Lim waited half a year, but he showed back up in Hong Kong, shut down his businesses there, and vanished again, taking his money with him. He didn't leave any information for the rest of us anywhere on the Web, either. At least, none of the usual word combinations struck gold on Google.

Farrell shut down his place in Lausanne by phone. I'd think he was dead and someone got tricky except his gallery ran a new exhibit of his photographs nine months later. He's somewhere in the Deep South, or was. I don't know if he's still there, but I know Savannah when I see it. It was a really good exhibition. I was scared he'd show up, the entire time, but the photographs were gorgeous anyway. Anyway, I'll stay out of the South anytime soon. I never could figure Farrell out. I think he liked me, in a distant, pitying sort of way, but I'm not going to bet my head on it. He didn't put out word either, after all.

But... that's it. No sign of the others. I'm going to quit paying the investigators after this week. Just no point. There were never many of us -- no great loss, honestly. I mean, Damita watching me that time could have inspired the Raimis to one more Ash movie, just to watch her completely screw up his life. Why did I just shiver? Not just Damita. And I love Army of Darkness, but wondering what kind of undead.... God. I hate those shudders. Hate anything that pulls my shoulders back like that, rustles down my arms in goose bumps and leaves me sure I couldn't block or strike fast enough for just a moment.

I loved horror movies. Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, Vampirella, Bruce Campbell, Boris Karloff, Wesley Snipes -- all of them. Good, bad, trashy, classic. I'm shuddering again? And why did I only list the vampires?

How long 'til sunrise? And how much coffee do I have in the kitchen?

Enrique gone. Damita. Bianca, and Jirina. Will and Johannes. Someone killed Erik, too. During the truce. So, maybe line Ramirez. Maybe not. 6' 4" and solid muscle and... how? Henslowe's gone, vanished before the war began and hasn't shown back up and he was a cold, calculating son of a bitch. Second only to Owain. Who the hell could do that? What did Owain expect me to do if I ran up against people who could destroy them? Good thing there was no one at that bar, but... Christ on a crutch. I'd have been easy meat.

I keep thinking I'm going to be doomed. I mean, I practice. I stay in shape. But... I don't sleep for shit a lot of nights. It'll kill me one day at this rate. I thought it had today. But... they only nodded at me. Traveling together, arm in arm like they were lovers or something. How can you sleep with someone who knows how to take your head? Does it add a major adrenaline edge to the sex? Or were they just staying in character? Hell of a security blanket, to have someone else to watch the door occasionally, I guess. Not worry about taking a shower, or getting caught sitting on the john, pants around your ankles...? Might be worth the risk.

God, I'm tired. I've watched the moon across the sky the last three nights. Wonder if sleeping in the daylight would be easier? Hope the estate agent's been able to find some old churches for sale. Daylight, or holy ground, I've got to sleep soon.

If they were wrong about immortals getting along, does that mean they were wrong about us not needing shrinks? Wonder if I could trust one to help me find out what I'm so scared of?

No. One slip about 'swords' and 'duels' and I'd be in a soft, padded cell while they fed me blue and purple pills. I don't think so. God. I need some help from somewhere, though!

I never thought I'd miss Enrique.

There's something I just don't get. Well. Where immortality is concerned, there's a lot I don't get, but this one just boggles me.

We all start out-- Well. So far as I know, we all think we're human when we grow up. Which means you get the full spread of humanity with us: good, bad, lazy, hyper, every religion (and lack thereof) and race on the planet. But we grow up with people. Taken in by families, or institutions, or what have you, but we grow up thinking we're people. How in hell do we ever get to the point of thinking we're 'better' or something?

I know some mortals do it too. (Weird. 'People' doesn't have the distinction I need, or 'humans'. Hmm. Are we human? I suppose I'll consider that one day, too. Not now.) Hitler thought the Aryans were better than the Semitics. Duncan told me once that he met an immortal named Kronos who claimed to be the end of time. (Might have been bravado, but Duncan said he was preparing to wipe mortals off the planet if they didn't give him what he wanted.) Owain and Christopher sure as hell thought they were better than everyone else. Was that because they were immortal? Or just their own arrogance?

How can we not think we're as human as anyone else? We eat, drink, defecate, urinate, bleed, need hugs, want sex or comfort, get bored or inspired or a little nutty... We're human in every way I can think of that counts. We can go as mad as anyone else, or do as much good for as little reason. We think, and pray, and curse, and love... What kind of idiot can think we're not human?

We live longer. I'm not sure we live better. Hmm. Some of us, maybe? Shamil, and Portia, and Aidan -- the ones who seize the day and live in the moment, maybe. I think maybe we learn to enjoy it more, if we pay attention. But 'better'? I don't think I know how to define that. I'm not sure any of us do.

We're not smarter as a species. I mean, we're still killing each other for no readily apparent reason. We tend to be tall, and good looking, but that's not all of us, and we can't reproduce, so what's the damn point anyway? We live longer, but don't have any built in instinct to guard or guide or be a good example. So... not brains. Not looks. Not children. (Not everyone does students/family the way my line does, so that doesn't count, clearly.) No widespread gift for invention or anything other than survival... and we don't teach it to mortals or, half the time, each other, so that doesn't count. There are more than enough mortal athletes who have us beat at speed, or strength, or agility, or endurance -- despite our best efforts in training to survive -- that it's not that, either.

How in hell are we 'better' than humans, then?

Me, I don't think we are. And I don't think that pretending we are will lead me anywhere I want to go. It's arrogance. It's hubris. And it's stupidity.

One of the mysteries Aidan loaned me had a historian commenting that it's not just the facts themselves that are important, but the relationship of the facts and the proportions of the facts to each other as well. Everything has to be seen both as it is and in its proper setting before we can understand it.

Well, immortals are different from mortals in healing, but not necessarily in lifespan. We have no guarantee we'll live longer. Or better. Or more happily. What's more, we're outnumbered. By a vast majority. We have to live with and among these people. We're probably going to love some of them and hate others and disregard the vast majority, just as we do with other immortals, and just as mortals do in their lives. Any immortal who forgets that he came from mortals, and lives among mortals, has forgotten his proper setting.

As my martial arts lessons keep teaching me: focus too much on your opponent's hand and she'll drop you with the other hand, or a foot. Focus too much on what we are, and not where we are, and the universe will trip us up, too. Always assuming, of course, that the idiot in question doesn't make so much of a disturbance that someone like Connor or Matthew comes along and cleans them up before they bring the world down around the rest of our heads. Arrogance. Hubris. Karma rolling down like a U-Haul full of books with the brakes out.

'Better than everyone else.' Sure, Owain. You're dead, too.