Originally posted November, 2000
((The first time Siobhan grows wings. The write up also expanded a bit on another NPC, Heather. Heather claimed to be a fallen angel, cast out for not fighting during The Fall. This interlude gave the players a chance to see action that had occurred offstage. They saw Siobhan carry off Master Wang, but couldn't follow right away.))
Heather did not look at the surveillance equipment set up in the corner of the hotel suite. Instead, she pulled the quilt a bit closer around her shoulders and returned her eyes to the novel. On a lark she had picked up a few Anne Rice novels after re-kindling her relationship with Samantha a view years ago. She found Louis a whining, angst ridden crybaby, and Lestat only slightly better. She considered recommending her current read, Pandora, to Sam, though. The main character seemed Machiavellian enough for her dear friend's taste.
Heather did not look up when she heard the gunshots. Instead, she thought of Jacob. Suicide, Siobhan had said. Suicide after the death of his kindred lover, Aoife. Heather had liked the waifish Scottish vampire when they first met, and the loss had stung. Heather expected a bit more from Jacob, but then remembered the werewolf's incredible talent for self rationalization and deception. One can't dance with the Devil and remain unchanged. Her "dance" with the devil cost more than life. The scarred sockets where she once sprouted wings still ached when it rained. At least she had given her sword to Sir Reginald to carry on the fight. She took some comfort in taking that reminder of her fall and putting it to good use.
Heather did not look up when she heard the odd buzzing sound growing louder from outside the suite. She thought of Aoife and Jacob. Jacob had asked if she would do it again. She carefully considered, and answered "No." She realized some time ago what she had lost, and could not balance that against the small gain of her passion and love. She found it sad that Jacob would never have the chance to weigh the gain against the loss. But then again, maybe he had, and found it wanting.
Heather did get up when the crash of metal striking stone rang out from the beyond the patio door. Her book forgotten and quilt left behind, she crossed the room with the supernatural speed of her birthright. On the balcony of the suite, a toppled gurney held a frail old man. The small brown form of the transformed Siobhan covered both of them. Heather looked aghast at the scene. Wang's pale skin seemed to glow in the cold night air. He looked considerably thinner than when she had last seen him, just a few months before. Siobhan's wings and carapace twisted and melted as Heather watched. A low, gutter moan escaped from the young mage's lips.
"Heather, bring a knife," she croaked.
Heather moved to her bag and rushed its contents to the patio. She kneeled over Siobhan and brought out a bright scalpel. Siobhan convulsed, her flesh rippling between brown chitin and pink flesh. "In his shoulder," she rasped. "Deep….his left….can't block it for long."
Heather turned her attentions to Wang, grabbed his left shoulder, then expertly plunged the scalpel through his paper thin skin. She could just see the outline of the implant in his emaciated arm. She pulled out the metal device and crushed it between her fingers, placed her hand on the wound then turned back to Siobhan. Siobhan rolled naked on the flagstones of the patio, blood issuing from her nose, eyelids fluttering.
Gathering Siobhan in her arms, Heather heard Isolde enter the suite. Somehow, the two of them would get the soon to return vampires bedded down in one of the bathrooms, check Wang out, and take care of the young mage. Something told her today would pose more than a fair share of challenges….
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