Bad Dog Blues

[Cyrill Nineball]

The cab door opened to a rainy Chicago evening. Kingston Mines, not Cyrill's first choice, but then again, suggesting a church might've been rude. Grave would've thought Cyrill didn't trust him or something. Trust Grave? Hadn't they been close comrades, fighting the forces of darkness and the enemies of freedom for the last two years of Cyrill's career? Cyrill would never trust Grave again after the break up of the Pool Sharks, or any of them for that matter. Assuming they were all still alive. The only one he would trust to be dead would be Eightballer, and only because Cyrill himself had killed him eight months ago in Lebanon. And somehow Grave had tracked Cyrill, both of them nameless and in possession of too many false identities to keep track, and Grave had filtered through it all with ease. He had called Cyrill's new phone number, which was under the name Dave Bilkins, Cyrill's assumed life while he stayed in Chicago.

"Dave Bilkins?"

"Yes...? Speaking."

"This is the Grave Life Insurance Company, we'd like to sit down and speak with you about some possibilities and your future."

"..."

"Sir, are you there? A consultant will be waiting at Kingston Mines at 9 tomorrow evening."

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP CALL DISCONNECTED

The paltry disguise was necessary to a point, and almost long enough to establish a relative connection to Cyrill's phone. But it had been informational, Grave had made up that bull about a life insurance company because he was afraid the nameless 'they' were listening in as well. Even then, he could just be doing that to make Cyrill think he was afraid. No one knew who the connection to the nameless 'they' was, there had been more than just Eightballer obviously.

Why Chicago? He had grown up in Atlanta, had been in the oddest sorts of places, and over all that, had concluded that Chicago seemed like a good place to start a new life. Cyrill had debated Alaska, but had determined that it was too secluded, any of the other former squad members would've made short of work of Nineball when he left himself seperated like that. Chicago seemed to have the right amount of people to blend in with and the right atmosphere, not to mention being located in the center of the States, there was plenty of room to run if needed. But with one phone call, Chicago wasn't seeming so safe anymore.

And there was this place. It was a trap. Grave had something in mind other than just talking, of course. Cyrill wasn't taking any chances with it either beyond making an appearance. Eightballer's former weapon of choice, the Immortal Torment was sheathed and strapped to his back, it stuck out some from beneath his jacket but blended well enough it would be hardly noticeable unless someone was taking the time to examine his posterior.

Nineball hurried inside to get out of the rain. Jazz music filled his ears, the low murmur of people underneath that. It smelled as pleasant as a Jazz bar could and the lighting and people were more or less easy on the eyes. He straightened his leather jacket and ran a hand through his black hair. It was about three inches long and it had a bad tendency to stick straight up. His hand wiped the rain from his face and his grey eyes searched the room casually. He met the glances of a few women before taking several steps further into the building. The band performing wasn't half bad by Cyrill's taste, but he wasn't any good judge of art, he just liked it.

And Grave, looking surprisingly, or maybe not, cosmopolitan compared to the last time they had seen each other had his own booth across the way. Grave was in an olive suit with more neutral colors to match and his hair was longer than Nineball's and swept back to the newest fashion style, Grave's normally brown hair was black with platinum tips. His blue eyes hit Cyrill like a glacier from across the room. Nineball hated those eyes and the feeling was mutual even with the say cheese smile Grave had on. Cyrill's heightened sense to other Immortals was going off like crazy, as if Grave was everywhere at once in the room. Cyrill blamed it on nerves as he made his way towards the table.

[Michele Hawkins]

So here I am, totally scamming food in the kitchen when I should really be studying. But this is not my fault! Here's why. Practically every person here tonight is ordering shrimp! So while Smithy is frying, sautéing, breading, and god knows what else he's doing in there, the delicious aromas of seafood and spices waif through the air and into the back room where I WAS studying.

And for those of you who know me understand that I can't be denied shrimp. So the fact that the entire club was filled with it's mouthwatering goodness meant that I had to scamper into the kitchen and steal my fill.

Strangely enough, when I walked into the kitchen, Smithy already had a basket full of shrimp waiting for me. He even wondered what took me so long! Hah! So now I'm happly munching away on some spiced up Cajun style shrimp when I feel that familiar tingling in the back of my head. You know the one I'm talking about. The pin pricks that shoot down your head all the way to the base of your spine. Some call it the Buzz in the Immortal world, but it's how we know when one of us is around. Regardless, I know it ain't Fiona because we came to the club together. Brigid was staying in tonight, so it ain't her either. It means another Immortal decided to come to the club which then could mean several other things, which generally fall into one of two categories.

One. Immortal is here to chop of either mine, Brigid's or Fiona's head. No fun.

Two. Immortal is here to catch up on old times with Fiona and/or Brigid and talk about a lot of things that I haven't a clue about as everyone makes fun of me for being the 'baby' of the family.

... Sometimes I'd rather have my head chopped off. Anyway! Fiona has to have felt it too, so I thank Smithy really quick, grabbed my bowl of shrimp and move my hiney into Fiona's office. I can already tell by the look on her face she felt it too.

"Well, I guess you know. Wanna go take a peek out in front together?" But then my eyes narrow as another jolt of the Buzz decides to shoot down my back. What the hell??? Another one. Since when did Kingston Mines became a a haven for Immortals? This isn't like holy ground where you're safe. I mean ... Uh oh. No way! This could be a prelude to a fight. Maybe?

I'm still new to the Immortal politics so I'm hoping Fiona throws me a bone here to what we should do. "You don't think ... I mean, it would be really stupid, but they wouldn't try and start anything inside would they?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"No, we have a masquerade of our own."

:: Fiona had a serious look in her eyes ::

"I'm going to see who's who."

:: She made a beeline towards the back entrance ::

[Cyrill Nineball]

"Nice to see you too, Nineballer, or should I say, Ninebreaker? Take a seat, enjoy yourself."

Cyrill stood a few steps away from the table, wary of the other man because he could only see one hand on the table. The other could have anything from a sword to a .45 magnum. Grave would risk it too, Cyrill thought, for the Quickening. All for the Quickening, wasn't it? That had been Eightballer's legacy. Disgusting.

"I'm Dave Bilkins... Where are the rest of your consultants?"

"Oh? And you can call me Billy Gilmore. And the rest? Well... it'll be hard to convince you I'm sure but I don't know. But..."

His hand twitched in what would've looked to any other onlooker as if he was fiddling with one of his fingernails, cleaning it or something, but their designated hand signals were clear enough between the both of them. They were not alone. Whether Cyrill decided to believe that or not was on him. The sensation of other Immortals around was off, like when all of the squad had been together at once, but it was still different this time. Nineball was seriously beginning to conclude that this was a trap and he needed to retreat without hesitation.

"Talk quick, Gilmore. I wanna know what you want before the waiter shows up to ask what you're drinking by yourself tonight."

"Oh sit down, Bilkins, have a drink, relax a while. I'm sure you've been a lot more jittery since the last time we left and you look like you could use a break to soothe those nerves of yours. Remember what he used to say, 'you've got all the time in the world."

"Fine. You can relax with your nostalgia by yourself."

Cyrill was not in the mood to hear or talk about Eightballer. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket and glanced at the toes of his boots, shifting his weight from one foot to the next anxiously. He started to turn, as if leaving.

"Fine! Fine! Bilkins, it's not me. I'm not the agent. I know you won't believe me but I can only say my piece. I know where Lazarus is though..."

Nineball turned back; Grave knew how to hold his attention, for a little while longer at least.

"Of course you know where Larry might be. You two could be working together for all I know. I don't even have to explain all the possible conspiracies to you."

"No. Lazarus came after me. He found me much faster than I found you. And he wasn't nice like I am, talking and being friendly and all that. He shot me in the heart in Madrid while I was on a ferry and then came to visit like some relative at the hospital when they put me in the morgue."

Cyrill was captivated now. Lazarus had been the quiet type, speaking only when necessary. He had accepted the Immortal scenario in stride, at least it had seemed that way because he hadn't said much after that. And he was one hell of a sniper. No one else could hear their conversation over the music, Cyrill wasn't worried about that at least.

"I still had my gun on me though. I blew a hole through his neck and ran."

"And he's still tracking you?"

"I don't think so. I threw his body in the furnace and spent extra time hiding out to cover any tracks. You're the first contact I've made because it just so happened when I was making sure mine were gone, your tracks started to pop up. How convenient, hm?"

Cyrill had gone through Madrid when heading to London and connecting back to the States. Grave must've been digging deep though, or knew Cyrill better than he knew himself. Nineball remained standing, licking his lips once before asking his question.

"So what now? You're here for me? A means to the end of Lazarus if he's still out there? A means by any method, ally or... some kind of sick ego boost to what you've already got going for you?"

3 years ago, Eightballer had been hit by a bomb from an air raid dropped by friendly bombers. And had still survived, reappearing only a little worse for wear a week later. Cyrill wasn't sure how it all worked but he wasn't going to cross Lazarus off the list just yet.

[Michele Hawkins]

I had followed Fiona out the back door and we walked up the alley to get to the front of the building. What? You thought I was gonna stay in the back? Yeah right! I am far too curious for my own good and my girlfriend has learned the hard way to tell me to stay put.

She wanted to come around the front and walk in casual so the other two Immortals inside wouldn't recognize us, hopefully. It really depends if these two knew us in some way, tho more then likely Fiona. "So when we come in the front door, what do we look for? Couple of people wearing trench coats?" :D

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona gave a slight smile, but it faded as she scanned the crowd. There was no sense of recognition in her eyes as they settled on two men at a table ::

[Cyrill Nineball]

Cyrill instinctively turned to the entrance and noted two fairly attractive females from his peripheral. The first one to enter was staring directly at them, at him, and she wasn't smiling. However, she was an Immortal, or the one behind her was, or they both were. He couldn't tell from this far away. How many more were in this place? How many could coincidentally be here within the span of time that Grave had requested without Cyrill thinking it was a trap.

"Ego boost? I think you need one yourself. You're the Ninebreaker, you cut off his bloody- ..."

Grave quickly noted the change in Cyrill's stance and he moved to the edge of his seat in the booth.

"What is it?"

"You're about to throw up."

"Wha-"

Grave's words were caught in his throat as Cyrill leaned forward, one hand sliding along Grave's collar, Nineballer's body blocking the view from the entrance, and his other hand slid between them and slammed into Grave's diaphram. The unsuspecting man lurched forward and coughed. Cyrill lifted him up and put an arm around Grave as he guided him towards the door in the back with the glowing tell tale "EXIT".

A waitress came up beside the two and Cyrill waved her off with an embarrassed smile and murmured something about his friend having too much to drink and needed some air. She had fortunately backed off by the time they reached the door. Cyrill wasn't looking behind him, but he knew the two females were still there. The door opened and he threw Grave forward who stumbled but caught himself against the wall across from them.

"What the... Did you have to-"

The slick looking 'insurance consultant' dipped his head forward and vomitted what little he had drunk before meeting with Nineball.

"Its convincing enough, isn't it?"

Cyrill stood with his arms crossed over his chest behind Grave, his back against the opposite wall where he was waiting beside the door. If anyone followed, they'd open the door and see Grave trying to regain his composure for the evening. The door opened out and Cyrill would be just behind it when it did, they wouldn't be able to see him until it was too late if they decided to attack Grave. A thought slipped through his plan that maybe they were with Grave, or Immortals from the nameless 'they', presuming that Grave was part of that as well.

It was a good thing in that case that Cyrill had snagged Grave's holstered magnum when he had helped him. The weapon was impractical in such a scenario but in the light of surviving, Nineball wasn't going to discard the possibility.

[Michele Hawkins]

I follow Fiona's line of sight to settle on two guys talking in a booth. One of them looks over in our direction and he really wasn't too happy about that fact. Then all of a sudden, the other one gets really ill and has to be escorted out the back.

"Oh well that wasn't obvious or anything." Well, to me and Fiona at least. But then I laugh, snorting a bit (stupid annoying trait), as something funny tickles me about what just happened. "Too bad we didn't stay out back."

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona rolled her eyes as they hurried out the door, and stopped herself from following ::

"You've got to be kidding me."

:: She tried to keep a straight face as she looked at Michele, but the absurdity of the situation made her laugh ::

[Cyrill Nineball]

Grave had regained his composure and was staring Cyrill down from across the small alley.

"You... you don't even act like you have all of Eightballer's power! He'd been alive for almost a millinea and killed so many Immortals in that time!"

"And? In that case, what makes you think you can take me alone? Quit playing games with me."

Grave knew that Cyrill wouldn't side with him no matter what, even if Grave had truly good intent, there were too many shadows cast over the entire group that they could never fully trust each other. And with that in mind, Grave knew he couldn't take Cyrill unless he had help or some elaborate trap to render the Ninebreaker powerless.

Grave seemed to have forgotten the other two women though, as if they weren't a care in the world which Cyrill took that they might actually be with him and Grave was trying to lead Cyrill's awareness away from them as well. Or maybe Grave was already caught up in the idea of the Game to such an obsessive point.

"Grave, I just want to be left alone. If you won't..."

"What Ninebreaker? What'll you do about it? Nothing. You'll hesitate and one of us, Lazarus, me, hell, Hades and Loki are probably right behind you, one of us will get you. There's no little girl around for you to get emotional about, to get all worked up and cry over this time. And there's no Eightballer to set the rules. It's just one big game of smeer the queer. And you're it."

Grave reached behind his back with startling speed; the look of shock that spread over his face appeared nearly as fast.

The following sound was a light hiss as Cyrill drew the Immortal Torment, the serrated back edge of the sword catching the muggy glint of the only light in the back alley. The rain was starting up again, Cyrill had regretted not even appreciating that it had stopped until now.

[Michele Hawkins]

"Yes it is." I laugh but then I wonder what to do now. Should we go after them, or give them some quality time alone to chop off a head. "Should we just let'em duke it out for a few and then go question the winner?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona's eyes narrowed at the door ::

"No, I'm putting a stop to it."

:: She walked with purpose outside ::

ttt