Sanctuary: Chapter 1 [closed]

Charles pulled his expertly cooked Beef Wellington from the oven and set it on the counter. His kitchen was nothing special, granite counters, a few good but not amazing appliances, but he liked it that way. Expensive kitchens had been a part of his life once and others had done the cooking for him. The food had been stellar but these days he preferred to do the cooking himself. There was an art to cooking, an art to carefully mastering different techniques from different chefs. There was also an art to trying to ignore the TV while it ran in the background.

Typically Charles was also quite skilled at this art, but as he let the Wellington rest, he couldn't help but overhear the news broadcast. A glance in the TV's direction brought him into eye contact with a brilliant painting of Pope Leo III. "No," he said and went about gathering the utensils and dishware necessary for eating his dinner. He left the food to enter his living room and turn off the TV, this time meeting the judgmental gaze of Pope Francis. "I said no," he repeated. A quick press of a button turned the TV off and he went back to his meal.

The house was quiet, a mistake he understood only moments after the first bite. He sighed and put down his fork and knife. "I'm retired," Charles said to an empty house. "Just leave me out of it. I told you I'm done, I served my time, I did everything you asked. Let them deal with it." 

They were going to use a sniper. He slammed his fork prongs down into the table and leaned back in his chair to rub his temples. Another mistake, this time he caught the gaze of the Crucifix on the wall opposite his table. "God damn it." Charles gathered his food, placed it neatly into the refrigerator and stalked up the stairs to his bedroom. Dragging a chest out from under the bed Charles swore again and used his signet ring to unlock it. The lid opened with a protest of steel used to sitting in one place and he retrieved belongings he'd not worn for long enough he had to dust them off. Charles strapped into his armor, threw his black duster over it and retrieved Joyeuse from its place over the head of his bed. Joyeuse did not have dust on it, he would never allow such a thing. 

This was not the Joyeuse replica in the Louvre, there was nothing fake about it. The moment he wrapped his fingers around the scabbard the signet ring on his right hand flared momentarily bright white. Charles took a breath, strapped the scabbard to his hip and strode from his house, muttering a parting curse to the figure of Jesus above the entry way. He was retired, it was unjust to pull him back into things now. He'd just started enjoying retirement. Never mind that his retirement had been on going for more than a century, that wasn't the point. It was supposed to be permanent. 

The car Charles drove was as uninteresting as his house, far from the best steed he'd ever owned, but it wasn't supposed to be. It was a retirement car, the kind women got excited about because he was old, not dead and bars weren't his scene. 

"You and I are having words after this," he said to the empty car. "God damn it." 

---

Charles arrived on scene and stepped from his vehicle without the groans and aches of 'middle' age. He always thought being called 'middle' aged was funny, but no one else would have understood the joke so he never shared it. He brushed past the police officer and spared only a glance at the apparent Therapist on scene. Kids these days needed specialists for everything. Snowflakes. He stopped just short of where the supposed barrier was and knelt down, picking up a rock, there was always a rock. He walked back to stand beside the Therapist, not because he wanted therapy, he didn't make that much money, but because it was a good distance. Hurling the rock Charles aimed to send it flying into the barrier to confirm for himself, with his eyes, what people were saying, and to see if the effect was immediate or gradual. These things mattered, which was probably why no one had bothered saying them in the report. Why give people useful information? 

Heaven forbid. 

Sometimes it was nice to just take a walk. Being left alone with his thoughts was always an interesting time, and William had to occasionally pull himself out to ensure he wasn’t changing parts of him again. One time he’d accidentally changed his eyes in front of a woman and she’d nearly fainted. Luckily he had managed to quickly change them back, making her think it was just a trick of the light. It wasn’t like he purposefully went looking for trouble, just that it so happened to find him. Like tonight. He’d simply stopped into a convenience store to snag a quick drink when the radio shifted to a news report.

An entire area where time seems to have stopped? Now that I gotta see.

William quickly paid for his items and adjusted the route of his walk. The news broadcast had been ever so kind in informing the listeners of the rough area they should avoid. William managed to make his way to a part of the area that was somewhat secluded. The police had put up a “Do Not Cross” line, but he’d long ago stopped listening to those. With a quick glance to ensure nobody was around, he opened up his drink, took a few gulps, then hurled the whole bottle. It sailed over the police tape, spinning slightly as the contents began to spill out. William watched it fly before the bottle suddenly stopped, suspended in the air, the spilling water frozen in time as well.

“Oh that’s interesting.”

A smile spread across William’s face as he looked down at his hand, wisps of darkness coalescing into a small black cube. He summoned one in the other hand, tossing them both over the line. Sure enough, they sailed through the air before coming to a sudden stop, at about the same distance as the water bottle. He extended his handing, willing the cube to dissipate and its essence to return to him.

Nothing happened.

William cautiously approached the line, ducking under it as he extended his arm, reaching out to grab the bottle. When his fingers wrapped around it, he was surprised to find it had no weight, and he could move it freely. He twisted the bottle, turning it upside down, but none of the liquid came out. Pulling back, the bottle came free with ease, its contents coming to life with a rapid glugging sound as the water left the bottle and soaked his shoes. Perfect.

He reached in and grabbed the cubes, dissipating them as he jammed his hands in his pockets, thinking of what to do next. Wait, they’d mentioned snipers. Shit. Whoever had done this had probably done it by accident, and definitely didn’t deserve a high-caliber injection. Think William, think. What can we do? His walk had resumed at this point, his feet steering him along the police line until red and blue lights began to appear in his vision. That’s what we can do.

William began muttering to himself as he slowed, figuring out how this would work. “Alright what do we need, what do we need? First off, uh, taller is more authority.” Between steps his form shifted and he stood a solid four inches taller.

“What’s next, what’s next? Glasses, sure.” A pair of black rectangular frames appeared on his nose. “Appearance? Nah, don’t wanna go that route again.” The smaller changes were easier, that was certain. One time he’d try to change his whole facial structure and had proceeded to spend the next week looking like a melted Toby Maguire before fixing it.

“Shit, outfit. Suits, sure, suits look more in command.” William had to stop for a few moments and focus, but sure enough, he was soon dressed in black slacks, a white button-up, black blazer, and black tie.

“What else do we need? ID, that should be it.” A quick glance to his hand along with a few more moments of concentration created a little black folding holder in his hands. Flipping it open, William double-checked to ensure the badge looked professional at a glance. He was still working on detail, and the badge was little more than a golden shield that said New Orleans Police Department on it. Hopefully that would be enough.

William ducked under the police tape, taking quick strides towards the officer who seemed to be in charge, who was currently talking to a woman with a feathered cloak as a man in armor seemed to be inspecting the barrier. And they said us theater kids were weird. He managed to catch the tail end of what the woman said, that she was the girl’s therapist. He decided to step in and make it hopefully easier.

“It’s all good Lieutenant, they’re with me.” William’s voice automatically dropped, his vocal cords lengthening. His friends had always wondered how he was so good at doing impressions. Little did they know he was literally changing his voice. He flashed his badge before tucking it into his suit. “Detective Walter Jacobs, New Orleans. Some of my boys are on their way, but they have to actually make the trip. Lucky enough to have family in the area.” William chuckled as he flashed a smile. Other roles were so easy. As long as you gave them no reason to have suspicion, they wouldn’t suspect.

“Now why don’t you bring me up to speed? I heard about the snipers from the news, and I gotta say that’s not the best option. Kill the girl, and this might be up forever. Don’t want that on your shoulders, do you?” William’s voice was stern, yet not demanding, hoping to coerce the officer into a position of subservience.

"Er - yes."

She hadn't thought this far ahead. Even if she had, she doubted she'd have been able to plan for a situation like this - a detective from New Orleans saying she was with him, along with a strange man with a sword at his side chucking rocks into the field.

This is why mom always told you to tell the truth, Flo. More you lie, more you've gotta lie to keep it going. End up getting in over your head.

But she wasn't Flo, here. She was Nightingale. Maybe - maybe Nightingale needed to lie, sometimes, if it meant doing good.

Offering the officer her most placid smile, she approached the edge of where the grass stopped moving and slipped a single finger inside. Heart racing, she held it there for a few seconds, then pulled it out. Nothing. Turning back to the Lieutenant Gold, she opened her mouth, paused, and glanced back to the houses. It was too far to get a good vantage on the girl's house. Even the police needed a drone to see her - hovering, doubtless, at the edge of the upper limit the officer had mentioned.

Of course it'd come to this.

"Give me a moment. I'll try to get us inside."

She adjusted the scarf around her face. Wouldn't want that coming off now, would we? Then, unfurling her wings, with a downdraft heavy enough to nearly topple the nearby bins, Nightingale took to the sky. Cresting to the same height as the hovering black dot in the near distance, she edged forward, eyes open for the house she'd seen in the news broadcast. There - sitting on the porch - was the girl.

"Can I come in?" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. "I promise I won't hurt you. I just want to talk."

The dot on the horizon wasn't a drone. It drew closer and closer as Nightingale hovered above the girl, a colorful object seemingly skidding on the air like a waterskier riding a wake - a woman, dressed head to toe like a mixmash of Ben Hur and a trapeze artist, glowing rope in one hand as she bounced her way over.

Nightingale put two and two together.

The girl below said something, but she didn't hear. Instead, she darted forward, catching the flying woman by her shoulders and flaring out her wings until they both slowed to a halt. No matter how the woman reacted, whether she opened her mouth to protest or not, Nightingale spoke over her in a hushed whisper.

"Let me guess. The 'detective' from New Orleans can vouch for you, too? Just like the man with the sword?" She glanced momentarily over her shoulder to the girl, then back to the oddly dressed woman. "I hope to god you're not trying to recruit her for - whatever this is. A vigilante group, or - Walter Jacob's School for Mutant Youth, or whatever."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's in shock, right now. Whether it's - from what she did, or whatever 'led' to this. Look at the way she's acting. Listen to how she's talking. I've seen the same thing in kids that figure out they're dying, and I know she's not in the right mind to make any sort of decisions right now because of it. I don't know who you people are, or what's going on, but your priority - OUR priority - is making sure she gets out of this safely."

Another glance at the girl, and her expression softened slightly.

"Sorry. You probably don't have any reason to trust me, either. Just - "

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Jumpy, Flo. You haven't been around other people in months.

"Just a little on edge."

There was already more drama here than at a play. Charles gave a side long look at the person who came up talking like a Detective. It was a believable enough story except for how convenient it was. Such things did happen though, so perhaps events had conspired to drop a detective here at just the right time. Regardless, his arrival drew exactly the right sort of information out of the police. The woman, the girl's apparent therapist, took to using wings. Turning his attention away from the both of them Charles examined his rock where it was stuck in the apparent barrier. It was interesting that sound could travel in and out, as evidenced by others speaking with the girl, but not objects. Well, that was as a start at least.

He considered his less than plentiful options for getting past the barrier. He had no wings or other means of getting places that were tall, and the barrier did have an upper limit, and it seemed everything stuck in place the instant it traversed the field. The solution presented itself as most did by simply allowing it time. "Ah." he drew removed his gauntlets and placed each one into the barrier as high over his head as he could reach, with the hands out of the barrier palm up. "I'm too old for this shit." 

Muttering a few other more choice words in ye olde French under his breath he grabbed the gauntlets by the hands and used them to haul himself up with display of strength that belied his age, and also made his shoulders hurt. Once he was hanging from them he let go and drew Joyeuse, shoving it halfway into the barrier. Placing both feet on the hilt he used it as leverage to pull himself up until he stood on the hands of the gauntlets. Muttering some more he knelt there, drew his blade back out, making use of the officer's remarks about the stick from earlier, and then drove it back into the barrier over his head. Hanging from the sword this time he removed the gauntlets, pulled himself up and repeated this laborious process over and again. 

"Detective," he said, pausing halfway up. "It would be helpful if you could retrieve a ladder. I can secure it in place from up here and you can climb up. A series of bricks or pavers would be equally useful to create a walking path, since you and I don't have wings, or, whatever else is being used over there." The Detective, convenient or not, had been helpful and he wanted him around. Once on top of the barrier he repeated the climbing process, but now did so  horizontally instead of vertically until he was near the others. He placed Joyeuse flat on the barrier and stood on it, balancing flawlessly on its blade. 

When the Detective was ready he would go back for him. For now he wanted to assess the situation. "My shoulders hate you," he said to no one in particular. In truth his shoulders hated climbing. He hated climbing, hadn't really enjoyed it since he was a kid. Instead some kid went and through up a time stop barricade and here he was, making his shoulders hurt, so he could climb said barricade and get the kid to lower it again all in the name of not getting her shot. Remember the part about being retired? He did, he was going to remind someone later. 

Rather than voice his complaints, for the most part, he took stock of the situation. It took far less time and effort than that insufferable climb. His expression softened. "Jesus," he wasn't cursing, he was addressing. He let the rest of his sentence go unsaid.

"I can get paper, but I don't think it would make the trip into the barrier," Charles said, addressing the girl for the first time. He could have gone after the core issue here, but that wasn't, in his experience, how one earned trust with children. Looking at her, he wondered how much of a child she really was, the lines were blurry these days. It looked to him like she  was of marrying  age, though doubtlessly current society would disagree. She was old enough to be an adult, but coddled by modern society. Well--her age group was. This girl hadn't been coddled at all if he was right. A few faces flashed before his eyes. He dismissed them, hard as that was. Some memories were better treasured than made into ghosts.

"Good of you to focus on your school work. I tried to get that across to my daughters a few times, but they sometimes preferred other pursuits." Namely men. "What happened to the original copy?" Take your time, build rapport, then get to the problem at hand. Charles rubbed at his shoulder, damn thing still hurt after his climb.

William nodded thoughtfully as Lieutenant Gold began filling him in on all the details. Most of it had already been on the news, and what the news hadn’t said, he’d found out on his own. Useless. What else did I expect? The cloaked woman provided some much more interesting information, or rather, Gold’s comment did. Apparently the girl at the center of all this had a therapist who was willing to talk to her. That certainly made things more difficult. William couldn’t help but gasp a bit in surprise as the feathered cloak unfurled, revealing feathered wings that carried her into the night sky, and presumably towards the center of the bubble.

“Well you certainly don’t see that everyday, eh Lieutenant?” William chuckled, remembering he was supposed to be playing the part of an approachable but respected detective. “I can see your point, though. There really aren’t many options, even less that don’t endanger your officers. I’ve got some ideas, so I want y’all to-”

William was interrupted by a voice shouting for the detective. Turning around, he was shocked to see the old man in armor halfway up the damn thing. Somehow the curmudgeon had managed to use his gauntlets and a sword, because why wouldn’t he also have a sword, to climb up. At his request for a ladder, William merely nodded before turning back to Gold.

“Change of plans. Lemme talk to the fire department, get their ladder, and then I need y’all to ensure the perimeter is maintained. I’m assuming you already have roadblocks or officers at the entrance points along the roads, but if you can spare the manpower, I’d recommend placing them around the field itself. It definitely extends outside of roads. Understand?” William waited a moment for confirmation before patting Gold’s arm twice and walking past him.

Requisitioning a ladder was relatively easy. A fire truck had already been there, along with an ambulance, and it was simple enough to leverage his previous conversation with Lieutenant Gold to get one of their ladders and have the firemen help bring it over to the edge, where Armor-All was waiting to help support it. William scrambled up the ladder a bit awkwardly, not completely used to this form. As he reached the top, he gave a nod to the man in armor before he held out his hand, a black rectangle appearing clutched in his palm. He quickly tossed it on the ground, where it entered the barrier and stuck. He stepped onto it, created another, and repeated the process. The squares stayed put for the most part, at least long enough for the mystery man to follow him before dissipating and returning to William in order to place the next one. As he walked, the figures in the distance grew bigger and their voices grew louder.

When the figures finally cleared up, William saw a woman wearing some type of cosplay outfit, and the supposed therapist. Confident that they were far enough from the police, William settled onto one of the roofs near the others. A shudder seemed to run through his body, the suit, glasses, and four inches of his height blowing away like smoke, revealing his blonde hair, piercings, and casual attire.

“Y’all are, wait shit.” William’s voice was unexpectedly deep, and he realized he’d forgotten to fix his vocal cords. Clearing his throat, he began again. “Y’all are terrible at this. Do none of you know how to act around police?” William flashed a smile to Bird Woman and Armor Man. “Name’s William, by the way. What about you?” his focus shifted downward to the girl at the center of it all. She couldn’t have been much older than him, if she even was older.