On a Darkened Street (Freddie)

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Two warriors stood on the empty street. One the product of Roman Britain, the other of the Ottoman Empire. The Turk attacked first, twirling his shamshir in circular hooking and slashing motions. The Celt held her own, wielding her long sword with equal grace. Each block and parry was punctuated with the ring of steel on steel, and a shower of sparks. Only one would walk away this night ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

It was closin' time, an Freddie done shut her down good. His Vieux Carre Apothecary was still afloat after a few months, tho ol' Freddie don't have much bread to show fo it. Nuff to pay fo de bills and to keep de Probation Man happy, and to pay de Landlady her stack.

Freddie step out in de cold and slap on his hat, lightin up a Lucky Strike as he walk home. He came to de intersection but stopped. He could hear some ruckus an carryin on down de way, like someone be bangin on some pipes. Not like construction style neither. Course, curiosity done kill de cat, and it sho nuff pull on ol' Freddie, cuz don'tcha know he gotta go see what de fuss about.

So Freddie go creep along, pattin on his jacket to feel fo his shootin' iron. De Windy City ain't safe by no ways, an Freddie gots to have protection, even if it be sideways of de law.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: The duel became more heated as the two immortals drew cuts on eachother. They were unaware of Freddie as he reached the corner, safely beyond the epicenter of the violence ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Now de sound was close, an Freddie crept slow. He press himself against de brick edifice, knowin' now what he be hearin' wasn't no pipes. Sounded like machetes or somethin'. Freddie know from his dime down in Angola bout dem Salvadoran vatos. Could be a coupla dem mixin' it up. Freddie didn't wanna see nothin' that be hazardous to his health, an decide that maybe it be best to stroll on home anyhow.

He slowly slipped away from de wall, and started to walk back de way he came.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: A heartbeat later, the fatal stroke came. Fiona leapt up, taking the Turk's head on a spinning downward cut. Thunder rumbled from above as a spectral glow emanated from his headless body. A fierce wind picked up, and then the Quickening filled the air. Arcs of lightning coiled around a street sign in front of Freddie, and a series of electrical explosions surged through several parked cars, shattering glass and frying car alarms. Behind him, he could hear a high keening scream that was distinctivley female ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Don'tcha know Freddie done stop in his tracks, like a blue bolt run down his spine. Somethin' witchy got dem hairs standin' up on his neck. Some old medicine, his mama'd say.

Now Freddie be in a real pickle, cuz he sho don't wanna go round yonder, but he can't make himself sidle on home neither. Freddie gotta see what de fuss is. He hang on tight to that brick wall, keep his hand close to dat fo'ty-five, and peek across.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: What Freddie saw next would burn itself into his memory forever. Fiona stood frozen over her headless opponent, illuminated by ghostlight as arcs of lightning shot through her violently. Mouth contorted in a final scream, she fell to her knees as the storm abruptly stopped. Wet strands of hair hung over her face, and suddenly looked up to make eye contact with Freddie. She looked like a wild animal that had been stumbled upon, but she didn't move a muscle. ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Dis be some spooky bizness. Freddie's boots stuck on de sidewalk, an he froze like a muskrat gettin' a whiff o' de cocodrie. He keep his hands on dat fo'ty-five, but sho can't skin dat smokewagon. De lady wit da sword done suck up all de air, cuz Freddie can't buy himself a breath of it.

Mama used to tellin' him tales bout de olde gentry, stories right out de side streets of de Vieux Carre. Dem sophisticated folk, back yonder when N'awlins be French still, took to carryin' dem old world swords, spoilin' for a fight when dey kin be 'round. Dey say when dere be a killin', God done kick up a helluva fuss, whippin up wind an' lightnin'. Freddie wonder if dem olde gentry still be 'round.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona took a deep breath, and managed to speak ::

"Freddie???"

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Freddie don't hardly recognize de lady. She got a wild eye. Finally, it hits him.

"Fiona?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: She stood shakily, taking up a sword in each hand. Rain began to fall ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Freddie still don't know if it be safe. Mademoiselle got two swords now.

"Ey Boo, why dontchasay put dem things away?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: She complied as best she could, cradling the weapons in both arms ::

"Suppose I told you that this was a dream. That you'll wake up in the morning and everything you think you saw tonight didn't happen. Would you believe it?"

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

"Even de dreams got some troof to dem, cherie."

Freddie remembers what he be thinkin before, bout dem ol' Gentry.

"Don't be supposin' you be privy to tellin' me yo age?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: The rain began to pour ::

"I'll tell you everything, just not here."

:: She was anxious to get away from the battleground, to someplace warm and dry ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Freddie nod understandin-like.

"Fortunately we both know a place out of de weather."

It probably be for de best that way. Freddie gone need a drink or two for dis.

[Fiona Devlin]

:: Fiona followed Freddie, the swords mysteriously disappearing along the way ::

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

Gentleman through and through, Freddie offered Miss Fiona his coat, takin' care to slip his shirt over dat foh'ty-five. Don't be needin' no trouble Freddie think to himself as they made their way to de pub.

They strolled on in, dryin' a bit in the entryway before steppin' down to a seat. Freddie kicked a chair out fo Miss Fiona to take 'cross from him.

"So, that what they be teachin' up in de university? Don't reckon I'm de student type."

[Fiona Devlin]

"Myths and Legends." she replied with a subtle wink. She wiped the wet hair from her face again, and eagerly sipped a hot cider to warm up.

"We're studying about Immortals. People from different times and cultures who walk the earth, and never age."

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

"Bourbon, merci."

Freddie got him a drink, despite de chill in his bones. He needed to take de edge off the evenin's events.

"I heard stories of you types. Mama tell tales bout gentry from de ol' country, settlin' ancient scores in de Vieux Carre. Don't rightly believe it till I see it myself today."

[Fiona Devlin]

:: She paused, waiting for the bartender to move to a patron on the otherside of the bar. It was mostly empty, but Fiona was still using discretion ::

"We live in the shadows, for obvious reasons. I feel like you're someone I can trust."

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

"Boo, you don't even know me."

Freddie lit up another Lucky Strike, leaning back as the smoke curled from his nostrils.

"I'm a jailbird. Done a dime down Angola way, dat's Looziana. Why you feel like trustin' me?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"No, I don't know you." she replied. "But I have a keen sense for the kind of man you are."

:: She looked at him intently, as though staring into his soul. They were the wide brown eyes of a young woman on the surface, but the gaze of a crone was scrutinizing him. It was an unsettling feeling, but it broke when she smiled ::

"Whatever you went to prison for doesn't concern me, Freddie."

:: She sipped her drink ::

"You've caught a glimpse of a much larger world tonight. There are those in this city who would kill you for that. Such a thing is not in my nature, and you don't strike me as the sort that cries Wolf. Or Witch."

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

"Hell, I ain't droppin no dimes now Boo. You'se secret safe wit me."

Freddie keep his voice low when de waitress bring de bourbon back. She went off 'gain and he speak up a lil.

"I'm assumin dis ain't yo first foray into homicide an such. How old you is, exactly?"

[Fiona Devlin]

:: There was a twinkle in her eye as she mused over the answer ::

"Old enough to remember Dragons in Midsummer."

[Freddie Tibodeaux]

De words done flew ova Freddie's head like a chickenhawk.

"Qui? Sorry, ain't much up on de classics. I got de notion you'se talkin centuries."

Freddie let out a slow whistle, sippin his bourbon contemplatively.

"Don't mind me askin boo, but what de beef about wit de headless gent?"

[Fiona Devlin]

"His name was Salih Shevger. I only know him by reputation. He was from the Ottoman Empire."