Chapter Four:
Unlucky Stars
by Angie and Skysong
Regina had always fancied herself a "do it yourself" type of girl. She could fix leaks in the plumbing, program the VCR, and had built the small pond in her backyard all on her own, with a little financial support from her mother. Her garden was also the envy of every rose fanatic for miles around.
So why was putting up a fence to protect said roses such a difficult thing?
It was, in retrospect, that stupid dogs fault, even after trying to brain the stupid animal with a shovel in an increasingly frequent emotional fit, it still kept coming back to dig in her garden and tare her roses to shreds. When a brief - and loud - talk with the animals owners in an attempt to get them to keep it on a leash gave no results, she decided to take matters into her own hands (which unfortunately did not involve a shotgun, shovel, and several uninhabited acres of wilderness).
It involved Home Depot.
She was a frequent customer, and the more seasoned cashiers knew her by name and face, as well as those who worked for the plant section. Unfortunately, she was not there for that comfortingly familiar department. Instead, she found herself looking about clueless at 2x4's, nails, and hammers.
If there was one situation she never liked, it was being clueless.
Jack Reilly hummed softly to himself as he slouched down an aisle. They had put him in building materials today and he was reasonably content. At least it wasn't plumbing, he thought. He hated plumbing as much as he hated anything, finding the pipes and valves puzzling in an unsettling way. Wood and nails and shingles, though? He was all set.
Suddenly, a tingly sensation, a feeling of tinfoil in his mouth, swept over him and he missed a step in his easy-going walk. Pausing, he shook his head. Not now. He was most definitely not in the mood. With a sigh, he resumed his walk, faster this time. He only had another two hours on his shift; he wasn't going to hunt down trouble.
Rounding a corner, he paused. Ahead of him, staring contemplatively at a rack of nails, was a tall, pony-tailed blonde. Jack smiled faintly. Time to go to work. "Miss?" he asked, voice drawling gently. "Can I help you?"
She turned calmly, and nodded once. "Yes. I'm hoping to build a fence, and I honestly don't have the faintest idea of where to start, aside from wood and nails." She seemed to be faintly embarrassed about that, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was masking her expression. If anything, her earlier agitation had increased quite a bit, but she wasn't going to turn away the employee, since he was there to help after all.
"Well..." Jack scratched the back of his head. "How long is the fence going to be? How tall?"
"Hmm…" Regina quickly did the math in her head. One side was forty feet, the other two were 30 so that made… "One hundred feet long, four feet high."
"Solid or picket?" Jack tilted his head slightly, studying her again. "You know. Do you want any gaps in it?"
"How large of a gap in between are we talking about here?"
"Your call really." He shrugged and held his long-fingered hands, today smudged with a mix of charcoal and dust, about a foot apart. "This much or," he brought his hands together to a three inch gap, "Or this. Or more or less."
"Picket." Regina nodded, causing one of her bangs to fall in her face, which she then tucked behind an ear. "Could you give me a rough estimate of what this might cost?"
"Sure." The lanky young man tilted his head towards the end of the aisle. "There's a counter down there and I can figure it all out." Counting on her to follow him, he started to walk, gentle voice carrying over his shoulder. "Though you're probably gonna need some concrete, too, to hold the posts in. I'll work it up for you. Think we have a pamphlet up there, too."
"Thanks." Regina followed, a few steps behind, her hands clasped behind her. This shouldn't be too hard, it was only a fence after all, and with a little professional help, it'd be up in no time. No problem.
So why did she feel like she had been chewing on iron fillings?
If there was some way of going back to sleep, staring at her alarm clock apparently wasn't one of them. She wondered how she ever managed to get to sleep with the red lights flashing like that all the time; it was giving her a headache.
But at least it was distracting her from the dreams. Those dreams bothered her, half-remembered and fuzzy as they were. Rayya had once said that the dreams were more like memories from the first incarnation. Regina wasn't sure if it was true or not, all she knew was that they frightened her…
… and angered her. She didn't like being afraid.
So, there was only one thing to do: get out there and show how un-afraid she was right? That particular logic was incredibly … insipid (not to mention faulty), but she couldn't really figure out what else to do.
Maybe it was time she started pulling her own weight, and showing that she could do it. That made more sense. Especially since things had become so… strained, with her teammates. She'd have to pick up the slack.
That decision made, Regina went out into her backyard, transformed, and took off. Maybe if she tiered herself out she'd be too exhausted to dream.
Jack Reilly stood at his window and looked out over the city. It all looked so very peaceful, so quiet and serene. No one would guess that there were probably a good dozen or so teenagers wandering around in strange clothing and attacking each other for no reason other than Fate told them to. He sighed and turned away. Fate and some annoyingly vocal animals. He stood still, eyeing his bed thoughtfully, one hand reaching up to rub over his chin. Then his hand shifted and he rubbed his scarred palm over the pale mark on his bare shoulder. He hadn't spoken to Jace in two days; how was she? Did she need him? Would he know if she did?
Frowning, he shook his head. He'd -know- if she needed him. Just like she knew if he needed her. He would go find her tomorrow. For now, though... "I'm too wired to sleep," he muttered, low voice a surprise in the silence even to his own ears. Quickly, he snatched a pair of jeans from the floor and slid them on before adding a worn-thin flannel and sliding his feet into tortured sneakers. He wouldn't be wearing this outfit long. Tyche was nudging at his consciousness; it was time to patrol.
Damn it was cold. Metal and the strange elastic material that made up her fuku wasn't exactly doing much to help. Neither was the wind; Urania figured if she ever had to open her mouth to say anything, she'd end up choking on her own hair. At that point she was starting to seriously consider hacking it off.
Stupid wind, stupid cold, stupid dreams… a girl simply couldn't get rid of it all, and Urania started to look for a place to shelter from the wind and rub some life back into her numb limbs.
A corpse of trees seemed like a likely place, unless she wanted to go into the nearby Taco Bell and explain why she was out at that time of night dressed as she was. Urania made the trip in short order, sat at the base of the trunk of a large oak, and tried to warm her fingers into some semblance of normalcy.
It was really too bad that a second chill that had nothing to do with the wind and low temperatures, made her shiver with unpleasant recognition. The whole patrol thing hadn't seemed like such a bad thing some odd while ago, but now she wasn't looking forward to it at all, and simply prayed that whoever it was would pass without incident, even though an alien murmur in the back of her mind was hoping otherwise.
Her hopes were not to be answered and a velvety-warm voice echoed from the trees surrounding her. "Now what have we here? Such a lovely gal out on her own in such a nasty part of town." A tall, shadowy figure appeared a distance away and tipped its hat. "Hello, darlin', shouldn't you be at home in bed?"
"I'm not your 'darlin'." She imitated the accent with a heavily sarcastic slant, climbing to her feet and picking up her staff.
A delighted, rumbling laugh carried through the cold night air to her, wrapping her in warmth. "Oh, mercy. I'm too late and you're spoken for then?"
"I can speak for myself, thank-you-very-much."
"And an innocent, too, that doesn't follow me." Suddenly, the figure stepped closer, moonlight illuminating the lanky young man in the riverboat gambler's clothing, glinting off the silver tip of a walking stick gripped in his hand. "Unless you're playing stupid, darlin'."
She shrugged. In her black and white, it would be easy to loose her in the dark if it weren't for the mass of tangled dark blonde hair. "Innocence or ignorance, what's the difference?"
"My response," he grinned brightly.
There was a thoughtful pause. "… and I care, why?"
A melodramatic sigh escaped him and he tucked his walking stick under his arm with a flourish. "Because it's really not polite to break a young man's heart, darlin'. Ah, well. Can I at least have your name to nurse my wounded ego?"
"Not if I don't know yours." Was the steady, but emotionless response, leaving little room for speculation.
He whipped off his hat and bowed low. "Tyche, darlin'." Straightening, he resettled the hat on his dark hair. "Your turn."
There was another brief pause on her part, before a soft, "Urania," popped out, followed by a more brisk, "And how many times will I have to tell you that I'm not your 'darlin' before it sinks in?"
"As many as you like, Urania," he returned easily, taking a few swift strides towards her, stopping once he was ten feet away. "So you're Romanus, huh?"
"Oh, we have a bright one." She shifted slightly, planting her staff into the ground and leaning on it.
"Mama always told me so." The mind-meltingly charming grin returned. "She also taught me manners so I'll let the lady decide. Fight or flight, -darlin'-?"
She was silent, considering her options and weighing information. She really didn't know anything about the guy, other than he was a Graikos. But she didn't need to know more than to know that the way he called her 'darlin' grated her nerves, that drawl was horrendous, and his grin simply pissed her off for no rational reason she could find.
And a responsibility was a responsibility wasn't it? That decided it for her.
Urania slowly worked her staff free of the ground, and walked as if to go around Tyche, slowly, deliberately; as if trying to prove herself no threat. At the last moment, she suddenly bolted, closing the remaining five feet in moments, aiming straight for the smirking Tyche.
The smile never leaving his face, he idly side-stepped, chanting softly, "Chances are you're going to land on your face, -darlin'-."
Urania pivoted just as she shot past, stopping in a dead run that should have been impossible to break out of as she had just done. Her expression would have done a poker-player proud, but she didn't break into a charge again, she simply tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. If there was one thing she -could- do well, it was mask her aggravation.
The flicker of a scowl crossed Tyche's face and then he nodded, the grin back full-force. "Graceful," he commented simply. "Let's see if you can dodge this, hm?" Reaching up, he jerked his hand down, pulling an invisible slot machine lever. "Jackpot!" A jingling noise erupted around the combatants in the small copse and a sudden golden glow appeared over Urania's head, quickly resolving itself into falling gold coins.
For a moment, it simply refused to sink in what exactly he was doing. Unfortunately, a moment was all it took, and the shower of gold rained down mercilessly. While the part of Urania was the teenage girl was stunned in surprise, something else from within took over and she backed up, out from under the stinging coins.
"Better watch where you're going, darlin'," the lanky Graikos called, clearly amused that she had presence of mind to leave the area of attack. "Chances are you're going to trip on all these roots and hurt yourself something awful."
True to form, Urania tripped and fell and ended up gouging her hands on the rough bark of the roots as she threw them out to catch herself, her staff clattered to the ground.
"I warned you." Calmly, Tyche strode over to the staff, slid a foot under it, and kicked upwards, catching it effortlessly. Then he grinned at the fallen girl.
Urania didn't reply, climbing back to her feet silently. The look she gave him was blank as ever, even though the hand she cradled to her stomach attested to some injury.
He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, her staff in his hands. Suddenly, he grinned. "You're tough, I'll give you that, darlin'." The grin widened, a flash of brilliant white in the night. "Not tough enough, though." Tauntingly, he held her staff out at arm's length. "Want it back?"
She stared at him for a moment. "Do you think I'm naive enough to take it from you even if I did?" she said, breaking her silence.
"How, pray tell, could I jinx your little staff, darlin'?" he drawled. "You're working on flattering me with compliments on my skill, hm?" He shook the staff slightly at her and then withdrew it. "Your choice."
Urania watched him for a moment, and when no further comments seemed forthcoming, she slowly inched backwards, a retreat, even though something in her screamed. Whatever it was wanted her staff back, not so much in words but in a raging stream of emotion and color that proclaimed 'MINE' which kept her from going quite as quickly as she would have liked. It was hard to move with some unknown force screaming in your head.
Tyche laughed and brought the staff back to lean against his shoulder. "You really want this back bad, don't you?" he grinned.
Urania's only response was a glare, the first facial expression he had managed to get from her the entire time.
"Chances are you're going to try and get it from me, hmm?"
Urania paused, her shoulders hunched in a nervous gesture. She -wanted- it but wasn't sure it was worth the risk to try and -get- it.
Very deliberately, he set the tip of the staff into the ground, fingers loose around it. "Chances are... You're about to make a move for it right now."
That did it. If she was having trouble deciding then, it was no contest now. Urania darted forward without consciously realizing she was, reaching for her staff.
At her movement, Tyche stepped backwards quickly, angling himself in profile and lifting the staff in a smooth motion. As soon as she was in reach, he swung the staff up, connecting with her midriff in a powerful blow.
Urania made a small sound and doubled over as her own weapon hit her in the gut, before stumbling and crashing to the ground for a second time her mind reeling.
Striding over to the fallen girl, Tyche beamed charmingly. "And I think that's a wrap, darlin' honey-girl," he purred. "Good night, little princess. Flights of angels and all that." The staff in his hand whipped upwards and then down efficiently. A split-second before it connected, possibly fatally, with the top of her head, something shifted the angle and it collided with her temple, sending her catapulting into dark unconsciousness.
Deed done, Tyche suddenly stumbled backwards, dropping the staff and pressing fingers against his temples. "It's my turn," he muttered to himself poutily. "Come on, man, this is how it -has- to be... Okay, fine. You win this time. Stupid little girl."
The lanky Graikos straightened once more and shook his head, genial smile returning as he adjusted his grip on his walking stick. Then he spun on his heel, not sparing a glance for his opponent, and sauntered off, whistling. Tonight had been a good night indeed.
It was in the early hours of the morning before Urania finally came to, too numb to really feel her injuries. Upon becoming coherent enough to evaluate said injuries, it was a good thing. Scratched up, a crusted over gash on her hand, bruised, and with a nasty knock to the head that she would fortunately be able to hide behind her hair, she wouldn't necessarily feel like she had been hit by a bus (she knew what that was like from personal experience) but she knew she'd feel crappy.
She finally sat up with a groan, her muscles were stiff and sore from both exertion and the numbing cold. What had exactly pushed her into doing something so horrendously -stupid-? She couldn't remember clearly, the only thing that was coming through was a vague outline of a man with an accent that had annoyed her who had called her 'darlin'.
A subconscious check revealed her staff nowhere to be found, but she wasn't in a mind to really care about it anymore; she was already thinking about how to take care of her injuries and whether or not there was any gauze left… and aspirin. She knew she'd need that once feeling returned to her limbs.
The last thing on her mind as she picked up the shards of her dignity as she wandered home was the strange burn in the back of her mind.