Awakening 1:4

[Eira]

   

    Jerking awake, the man pants for air and lurches upright while struggling not to vomit.  Despite being quite alone in his quarters, the jolt that had yanked him from slumber had all the pleasant physical sensations of a powerful punch to the gut.  Wincing he runs clammy hands through his dark auburn waves, leaning forward with a squint to check the time.  Far too early for a night owl, but time enough to get to the Order and see what was going on.

    Making short and tidy work of his morning ablutions, Altman makes it to the Order in short - well, order.  Navigating the labyrinthine halls with ease, he pokes his head into the various workrooms and training areas, finally locating his target clearly on his way to the Order's cafeteria.

    "Calder!"

    The other man turns at his hail, a slow smile pasting itself onto his features.  "Altman?"

    Michael makes up the last of the intervening distance, gesturing to a side room.  "Do you have a moment?  I require a word."

    Calder smirks, tipping his head and preceding the British man into the room.

    "What can I do for you, Altman?"

    Altman hesitates, trying to choose the best words.  "I was wondering if you've heard anything lately.  Anything big rolling over the hill?"

    "Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean.  Is that white haired witch putting more nonsense into your head?"

    Grey eyes going gunmetal in an instant, Altman's polite tone drops to a flat pitch of warning.  "Guardian Eira has proven herself to be a capable and loyal Operative to me.  I suppose if you're not of the correct caliber, you may not notice the subtler vibrations thrumming through the Codex."

    "Oh, I wouldn't go as far as all that, Altman."  Calder steps forward, Michael's shoulders squaring back.  "Things are changing, Michael.  You can't hang on to the status quo forever.  It's for the best - the descended and ascended require neutralization, wouldn't you say?"

    Altman's voice remains calm.  "It is not for you - or I - to decide those things.  There have only been a handful of both descended and ascended on record for the Order's history - a history spanning well back before the advent of Christ Era.  They have a purpose."

    "Everything has a purpose, and for some that purpose has been outlived.  But let's talk of better things.  I know the phenomenon of which you speak, and I assure you all is well.  Why, I felt it rather pleasant."

    Remembering the sensations that had jerked him from a sound and peaceful sleep, Altman's gears turn as new information about Calder begins to lock into place.  Keeping his expression closed, he tosses Calder a quick nod.  "Perhaps I'm not reading the Codex correctly, then.  I'm sure you're quite right.  I ask that you leave Eira - and Murdoc - to me."

    "Of course, they're your responsibility.  I'll be damned if I want to babysit that particular pair."  He smiles, eyes cold as a second, more menacing voice rumbles beneath his own with his next words.  "Stay out of the way, Altman, and you'll be just fine."

* ~ * ~ *

        Despite the heavy, ominous ping that had disturbed Eira's slumber shortly after last Trauma, she and her sleep had recovered enough that she needed to get out.  It had been a while. You'd think they'd be at it all the time - two virile adults with expansive means and niche celebrity status? If Michael "Mr. Showtime" Wryght could run for president, surely they'd be entitled to a bit of promenading.

    Not these two.

    Call it introversion, call it a reclusive nature, but Eira and Murdoc's outings tended towards the odd and obscure. If not outright lethal, but that's more a matter of profession than anything else. Tonight, however, a far more intimate evening was planned. He didn't know it yet, but he'd find out soon enough.

    A soft smile on her face, Eira arranges her hair a different way, turning her head this way and that in the mirror to gauge the effect. Wavy tendrils of silvery white draped around her face as she holds the untidy mass up and away from her neck.

    "Beautiful. As per usual."

    Startling at the familiar voice, she turns to see Murdoc in the doorway of their bedroom. Without bothering to disguise her ogling, Eira's gaze travels over him. Unruly dark hair curling just past his collarbone, blue eyes watching her with predatory focus, dark denim jeans settled low on his hips beneath his powerful torso - the very picture of a romance novel's cover.

    Okay, a romance novel cover for sociopaths. The analogy stands.

    Leaning in for a kiss, Eira twines her fingers in his mane to give a sharp tug, eliciting a growl from the large man as she nips playfully at his lower lip.  Eira's pleased giggle breaks off in a squeak as he picks her up and bodily tosses her onto the bed, following her in and pinning her arms above her head.  Satisfied smile on her lips, she wriggles beneath him to get her legs free, entwining the long limbs around his own.  His mouth inches from hers, 

    "You must be joking."

    "It's Altman. I have to answer."

    With an expression no less sour than the burly man now flopped disconsolately on the bed, Eira slides the call open and snaps a sharp greeting.

    "What."

    The irritation fades quickly to concern as she listens, rising from the bed and tugging her shirt back into place.

    "See you soon."

    Tapping the screen she tosses the phone down, Murdoc's eyes boring into her with clear question.

    "Altman has a warning for us but he wouldn't say more over the phone. I'm sorry, but I have to go."

    Now standing as well, the large man raises a skeptical eyebrow.  "A warning.  If it was THAT important -"

    "He sounded unsettled, Love.  Not at all like himself.  I need to see what's going on - I felt something strange too, but I'll be damned if I know what.  Maybe he found something out about Sadistic and the Cathedral?"

    Eira takes Murdoc's silence as agreement as she moves to the foyer, Murdoc padding along barefoot behind her. He watches her don her coat and grab her keys but catches her wrist as she reaches for the door.

    Spinning her into his arms, he wraps her in a warm embrace before kissing her on the forehead, releasing her with a rueful sigh.

    "Come home soon, Amba. I'm not a man for unfinished business."

* ~ * ~ *

    "Did you really bring me here to talk about my next match?  Hiroshi and Nathan.  Sure, Nathan's gone dark and Hiroshi could probably suffocate me with a single thigh, but I'm pretty sure I can handle that."

    "This isn't what you think it is."  Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Michael gestures sharply as he opens his mouth to continue.  "This isn't as simple as that."

    "Sure it is.  I can be just as sadistic as Nathan has been - I'm not afraid of his savagery nor his apparent new cruelty.  So long as I stay out of Hiroshi's arm's reach, I should be fine."

    "Eira, it isn't so clear as that, it's -" Altman goes to continue, but she cuts him off again.

    "It really is.  Nathan is an impressive competitor who is now a really angry impressive competitor.  He's flat out fucking dangerous, but I can deal quite comfortably with dangerous.  Hiroshi seems a really nice guy and I'd love to share some sake with him after the show, I just need to make sure he doesn't accidentally crush me during the match."

    "Hiroshi - Nathan - .  This is an issue, Eira.  I'm not sure how, but it is.  This - this thing is connected to - "  Altman breaks off, visibly frustrated.

    "I'm here because you said you had a warning for me. I didn't think we were going to discuss this match - how is it important? It's not like I'm going after Sadistic's World Title again, right?"

    With the air of a man experienced in the standard feminine mind, Altman narrows in on her words, still irritated. "This thing seems related SOMEHOW to this match you're having NOW.  Nothing to do with Sadistic or the World Championship, and I thought you were over that."  He smirks, knowing he's needling her but tired of her arguments.  "It seems strange that a woman as self possessed as you should feel such an obsessive need for external validation."

    Her mouth curves in a wry smile as he misses the mark - albeit not by much. "It's not so much a matter of external validation as it is a need to take it away from him."

    "Such pettiness is beneath you, Eira. You had a year long run at the belt - what more do you want?"

    Eyes narrowing, she glares across the table at him. "A year long run? Alright, I'll go with you on that one." Hip cocked, she crosses her arms. "How many times in the course of that year did I actually have a shot at the title?"

    Altman responds with a faint lift of his brows, showing a truly British immunity to her tone. "Do you really expect PCW's brass to keep handing you title shots you keep losing? How many times have you lost to that indictment of American culture, Whitey Ford?"

    Hands fisting at her sides, she glares up at him, his steely grey eyes staring right back.  "Shall we bring up your career failures as well, or is this just a party of one?  I looked into your file and -"  Shaking her head in annoyance, she bites back the rest of her words.

    "You are one of the only allies I have, I apologize.  Shall we continue?"

    "Very wise of you."  His tone about as warmly receptive as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, Altman pushes his glasses up on his nose.  "Something has happened.  I cannot tell you what, because I do not KNOW what - but I know I felt something break amiss.  Something has gone terribly awry in the order of things, and I cannot find any answers."

    Worry ghosts over Eira's features, gone as quickly as it came.  "I know what you mean.  Doesn't the Order know?  Surely if you go high enough up it will -"

    "I've gotten no answers, Eira."  Eyes darkening, he moves closer to her.  "The time for games is done.  For good or ill, my own manner of dealing with others aside, I trust you implicitly.  You have shown me that you are worthy of that - an honor bestowed upon few."

    Frowning, she gives her head a little shake.  "But surely other Clerics... an Archivist...?"

Altman's expression quickly buries her hopes.  "I've only spoken to one other Cleric, and he was - obstructive."

    "Who?"

    Altman's mouth twists in a sneer of disdain.  "Why, your friend's Cleric."

    Real concern making a squirming knot in her belly, she gestures for him to continue.  "But he's not a threat to us.  Not to Murdoc, or myself, or you - Rhodes just wants to know what's going on, he needs our help not -"

    "This match has something to do with it - if not the match, the participants, or the timing?  I cannot be sure.  What I am sure of is this: Rhodes is not your problem.  He is not at the root of this particular glitch in the Codex."

    "Then who is?"

    "None other than the second highest ranking member of my Operative class - Cleric Calder."