The Barrens

Iyana screamed. She pulled away sharply. The reporter hadn't meant to, and the sound of her cry was somewhat muffled by the strip of leather in her mouth. A line that curved across her right shoulderblade seemed to be on fire, the line that the man had accidently traced. Things seemed to happen quickly after that as she found herself in the arms of the Cloak. Instead of being wary of it like she had been, she trusted it, knowing that somewhere within, Charles was there and he had proved that he wasn't going to let too much damage come to her. She nestled her face deeper into the folds of his cloak, seeking that darkness.

They were running, and considering the creatures that meant moving at unearthly speeds. Still, even back into the clutches of the sandstorm without, and the wind which whipped past them as they careened into the blank depths of the Barren's, they managed to carry on a conversation.
"Why would that monstrosity have even been here!? The only living thing that willingly comes here travel in the caravans, and more than that, it was looking for something," the man shouted.
"Me," came the quick reply like thunder.
"Why would that beast be looking for you?" a glance of hesitation and suspicion was cast in his direction.
"The people whom I served heretofore against my will sent it to hold me down. They knew that the Hellraiser would stop at nothing and would not be stopped. They knew that I would not be able to defeat it," it lowered its hood to look at the woman clutched tightly in its arms, "And they will not stop there. I must run. I must hide, but first, I need to find someone."
"The young man who I..." the man identified as death looked strange without his coat on, less a dooming presence and more... well, friendly. He hung his head, unable to finish the sentence.
"You did what you had to do," the cloak answered, "But I have to retrieve him. He's waiting for me."
"But how will you ever be able to reach him?" the man's words brought to mind the paradox recently faced in the crypt. That memory caused the man to look more than slightly disturbed.
"I can't," the Cloak looked down at Iyana once again, "I can't reach Grey."
"Then let me help you," it was virtually a demand. Strange considering all that had happened, that this man might want to remain alongside the very creature who had been duty bound to remove that lovely phantom who had seemed to mean so much to him.
"Thank you," was the only reply that he received.

Iyana quietly listened to the conversation, only vaguely aware of a bead of blood that crept down her chin as she bit her lip to stop herself from either crying or crying out.
"Let me help you too!" She said, forcing herself to refrain from screaming as she spoke. "I just need to get another pair of glasses from my..." She stopped speaking, remembering that Grey had died in her flat.

Charles slowed to a stop, looking down at Iyana, just when exactly he had become Charles again was incredibly indistinct. Still, he hunched over, blocking out the light quite adequately. Bending his knees, he gently lowered her down to the ground, wiping away the blood from her chin with a finger, smearing it a bit, leaving the tell tail stain.
"And it wouldn't hurt to get you something for the pain either," it was his strangely soothing monotone voice again, not some abysmal bass pounding out the words. Motioning the other man, who had backpedaled to rejoin them, Charles allowed the young woman into his care, "Where we're going, they will have both, but I would rather retrieve anything we need prior to our arrival." He began feeling the air as he had before, like a mime defining a door. Except that when he pantomimed opening the door, the air peeled back. "I will return momentarily," he smiled reassuringly before stepping through and leaving th two alone on the empty plains.

Iyana nodded, although she was unable to see whether or not Charles had seen it. She seemed somewhat unsteady on ehr feet for a few moments before regaining her balance. Gingerly, her fingers strayed to where the thick scar ran across her chest and over her shoulder. She flinched slightly, feeling the heat and the raised skin, her hand falling back to her side. She felt a childish urge to cry, but squashed it almost as soon as it had welled up. It was a battle scar, to be worn with pride.

"Oh, you won't want to touch that," the man lifted his hand to stop her, but as she gently felt the wound, he id not pry her fingers away, "I'm terribly sorry." He looked at her shoulder, where he had left such a clumsy mistake for her to wear forever. His posture was so awkward, as if at once he wanted to reach out and support the girl, but was at the same time hesitant to touch her, perhaps caused by the shame of what he had caused her. He really wasn't a bad looking fellow, and his anxiety might have made some think he looked better, cuter even, although others would have simply called him weak. His turtleneck sweater, that odd green color, and black slacks, worn out old boots... He looked so completely out of place, long curly black hair hung in a way that wet hair does along his neck. He pushed his hands in to his pockets and looked down at the ground below, every waver she made or limited sense of unbalance made him jump a little.

Iyana shook her head, standing with her feet spaced at shoulder width aârt in an attempt to kep her balance. Without her sight, this was not an easy thing to do.
"It wasn't your fault. It was that thing's fault, as well as my own. If I hadn't been stupid enough to go back into the antechamber, it wouldn't have found me and I wouldn't have lost my glasses, and this," She gestured to the scar, "would never have happened." She murmured, looking towards where she judged the man to be given the direction his voice had come from.

"Had you not been following me, you never would have entered the crypt in the first place, or perhaps even given a second thought to this god forsaken land," he looked into the storm, staring at the blaring glare of nothingness swirling all around them. The pained expression upon his face was the same heartbreaking look that he had worn when the ghostly woman had stood before him. It was a ghastly sadness. He shifted once or twice, but it wasn't more than a minute or two before the air was bustling open and Charles was coming through, arms loaded with several items. One might have caught a glance at the small market on the other side of the temporary door just before it closed. "Sorry it took me," he smiled in a strained way, dumping some of the stuff on the ground, "Here, I got you those glasses." He was holding up a pair of large dark shades, taking Iyana's hand in his own, and guiding them up to the protective eye-wear.

Iyana didn't answer the man, instead taking the glasses, snapping them open and sliding them up onto the bridge of her nose. She blinked several times, getting her vision to clear and adjust itself to the dull light of the barren lands.
"Thanks you," She said gratefully to Charles. She glanced at her shoulder, where she could see the thick, ropy scar. Suppressing a shudder, she turned to the man, now able to see him. Although she would deny it at all costs, she did find him attractive. "By the way, what's your name?" She asked him, her head tilted slightly to one side in a look that most journalists knew off by heart.

"Azrael," he self consciously extended his hand, "Gilbert Azrael." His eyes met her shades, but even those he could not look at straight for more than a moment, and he averted the sadness in his eyes away from her direct vision, obscuring those rather intimate pathways which seemed to lead quite directly to his soul.

Charles meanwhile dug through the supplies that he had brought with him. Another scarf, which would be more than adequate to cover the scar, a small bottle of pain killers, a couple of candy bars, and some assorted items which did not seem to have any immediate purpose. Of the candy bars, he tore one open and shoved it into his own mouth. The scarf he grabbed and wrapped the pill bottle in it, along with a small bottle of water, which he deposited towards Iyana, so that she could reach them when she wished. But he did not say anything or make any overt motions to disturb the greetings being exchanged.

Iyana noticed that this seemed to be a delicate moment for the newly introduced man. Feeling the need to busy herself, she picked up the scarf, arranging it in a way that covered the scar completely before taking the bottle of painkillers and of water. She cast a customary glance at the instructions on the medicine before shaknig out two and downing them with a gulp of water. The reporter stuck out her tongue in response to the taste the pills left, but she decided that she would rather take them than keep thinking about the residual pain in the wound.

Her hidden eyes swept over the rest of the things Charles had brought back with him, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"Planning to last out a siege? You wouldn't happen to have any bullets for this, would you?" She asked jokingly, trying to make light of the situation as she pulled her pistol out of its holster at her hip.

"Actually... I'm not the best with guns, and I didn't know what kind of bullets yours took so," he lifted a small black case out of the pile and unclasped the locks with a small brass key, "I just bought a new one. I hope it isn't too much trouble?" The handgun which sat in the keep of the container was rather large. Two clips sat beside it, and he brought out a box of bullets to sit beside the thing.

When she had not taken his hand, the man who had identified himself as Gilbert slowly curled it back to himself finger by finger. Now, he found it coming up from a reaction to catch the candy bar which had been hurled at him. "Hungry?" Charles shouted in a good natured way as the bar landed in the man's hand.
"Um... Sure," he began to peel away the wrapper slowly, not looking so sure.
"How 'bout you?" he proffered another bar to Iyana, taking a brake in between jamming bullets into the new clip.

It was hard to tell what Iyana was thinking, thanks to the dark glasses. She was looking at the gun, as if unsure of what to say.
« Thank you, » She murmured after a few moment's thought. She considered the fact that there wasn't much else to say. She hadn't been expecting Charles to come back with a new gun. She picked up the pistol, feeeling the difference between it and her rather smaller one. She tested the weight and grip, making sure she knew where the safety catch was. It looked a little big for her, but Iyana smiled slightly. She was armed again, and ready to follow the two men into what ever dangers they managed to find and report on them. What more could a paranormal journalist want?

Charles broke her out of her chain of thought as he offered her one of the candy bars. She put the gun down, thanking him for the offer. Her fingers fumbled a bit as she unwrapped it, slightly numb. She guessed that it was just the painkillers. After all, the wound barely hurt now. She took a bite of the bar, chewing slowly, looking around the barren lands.

"T'sno porblem," Charles smiled up at her.
"So, um, where exactly are we going then?" Gilbert emphasized his words with his stare which was locked quite fixedly on the rather large handgun.
"Don't worry, it's just a little bit of extra protection, in the hopes that we don't end up having to worry again about needing bigger gullets," he seemed to be in rather a good mood but even so, he sobered up as he glanced back at Iyana, "Although, you will want to be on your guard. I won't be able to go all the way with you, and neither will he." Charles thumb indicated a perplexed Gilbert.
"But... Where are we going?" The man reasserted his question.
"The Limbus Junction," the look in Charles' eyes seemed to be communicating something which he intended only the other man to understand. So that the initial reaction of widening eyes was put into check. A quick glance was cast from the more anxious of the two at Iyana.
"You're going to send her diving into Limbo?" obviously he hadn't quite gotten the message.
Charles looked up at the sky, as if expecting some sort of divine aid. "It's purely voluntary work. If she doesn't want to help me drag Grey out of the confines of Purgatory, then I will find someone else," the two men squared off. Gilbert's scowl indicated quite clearly what he thought of Charles' idea, but it did not seem to daunt the passive man in the least. "We'll have to hurry if we intend to catch the train," Charles had shoved what was left of the supplies into a little knapsack which he shouldered as he spoke, standing up once again, "Ya'll comin'?"

Iyana picked up the gun again when Gilbert asked where they were going, having finished the candy. She checked the safety catch on the pistol, holstering it securely. For once, she was glad that the holster she had bought had been too big for her small handgun. She had always thought that she could carry her PDA in there, but never actually did. It was only slightly on the small side for the new arm. Her SIG sauer was put in one of the many pockets of her combat-style trousers with the clip and its single bullet safely removed and stashed in another pocket.

However, at the revelation of where they were going, her journalistic instincts told her to prick up her ears. It wasn't the content that was causing this, but the tone of voice in GIlbert's response. She glanced up at the two, folding her arms.
"What makes you think I can't go into this Limbo place on my own?" Unfortunately, Iyana's education in the religious scripts and mythology had not been vast.

"It's not the getting into Limbo that's the issue," Gilbert didn't take his eyes off of Charles' as he glared his conviction. Every word was like pounding home one nail after the other.
"Limbus Junction is somewhere between life and death," Charles conceded, "Where the dead people go to wait on actually being dead. Thing is... Living people aren't supposed to be there."
"Mhm," Gilbert was getting a bit irate, "And if the living stay in Limbo for too long-"
"They don't come back," Charles finished his sentence for him with a small smile, "But I haven't heard any complaints from you about bringing a dead man back to life, and you and I both know what the rules say about that."
"You and I also happen to know that your friend isn't exactly a normal case," hands curled into fists, "I won't just let you send her in there. You have no idea what might happen to her."
Charles turned slowly to look at Iyana, a minuscule smile passed across his face as he cast his glance over her form. "She'll be fine," he said, "We've got a train to catch." Before he finished speaking, the sound of a loud whistle could be heard in the distance, and then with sudden speed, the massive black train roared past them, belching steam. There was no rail for it to run upon, nor did it stop or even slow as it went by, but that did not stop Charles. He merely walked into the blur as it whipped by, whipped the sandstorm in its wake.
Gilbert turned to look at the girl. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

That made sense to Iyana. The place between life and death. It reminded her of a report she had read once about the creatures of the underworld. However, she did notice that Gilbert was glaring at Charles as if he wanted to kill him. She raised an eyebrow slightly. She glanced at Gilbert as he said that he wouldn't let her go there. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"He died when he was trying to protect me, so there is every way that I'm going in there to get him back out again." She said firmly. "I'm not going unarmed." However, the reporter smiled at him at least until the train came screaming out of nowhere. She saw Charles simply step into the blur and gritted her teeth. Taking a deep breath (an regretting it as her chest wound protested), she made to step into the blur.

The decorum was absolutely lovely, the large riding car decked out with gilded mahogany woodwork from a century long past and brilliant red carpets and upholstery. The lighting was electric, or so it seemed, and the ride was incredibly smooth so that the crystal glasses in which drinks were being served by waiters in primly tailored waistcoats did not so much as shimmy.

Charles sat in one of the large booths that lined the main isle. he smiled and waved at her, only to be blocked by the body of one of the waiters. "I'm sorry, madame, but do you have a ticket?" he asked in a polite although snobbish manner.
"She's with me," the voice which came from behind Iyana was dangerously low toned, and almost a hiss of a kind. It was Gilbert, who looked about as happy to be there as did a grizzly bear shoved into the shelf of a teddy bear shop. The serving man backed off, with no further question, the look on his face was just more than slightly frightened. He scuttled off, presumably to attend to some matter of great importance.
Gilbert held out his arm to escort Iyana to their seats.

The Last Prophet inquired the man about a drink, and contented himself with one of the truly copasetic glasses, admiring the cut of the crystal before taking a sip.

Iyana gawped at the carriage until the waiter decided to interrupt her thoughts with a tone of voice that she found irritating. However, just as she was about to open her mouth to give a smart-arsed reply, Gilbert intervened. She couldn't help but smile as she took his arm:
"I see chivalry has yet to die," She remarked jokingly.

"I'm afraid that if he travels with me, this Chivalry shall not be long for this world," Gilbert smiled in his sad way, but he looked genuinely pleased that he could exercise his prerogative as a gentleman, or perhaps it was the lady... He maneuvered them by one of the other prim men, dressed up in his most penguin-like manner. The server turned to glance at them and then quickly away when he caught the gleam in Gilbert's eyes.
"Hello, you two," Charles perked up quite happily when he saw them come alongside the booth, "Making friends and influencing people?" He looked around Gilbert at the waiters, who were all in such a state as to look positively vexed, all standing on edge and casting nervous glances at the new arrivals.
Gilbert offered the window seat to Iyana with a flourishing sweep of his arm. "The attendants have lost none of their charm since last I rode upon this vessel," the generally melancholic expression melted into a more good natured smile. Gilbert really must have been in a mood.
Charles' head bobbed as his own passive face found itself broken apart by a toothy grin. He looked like a schoolboy on a forbidden field trip, all excited and bouncy.
"Do either of you want anything to drink?" the question posed by enigmatic face looked innocent enough, but the gleam in his eyes was markedly sadistic.
Gilbert shook his head at the young man. "You surprise me. I've never once met a wraith with a personality, and certainly not one so openly defined as yours. A glass of water for me," he sat back into the lavishly cushioned seats.

Iyana settled into her seat, once more making sure that the safety was engaged in the pistol, listening to the banter between Gilbert and Charles. She glanced out of the window briefly before she pulled her glasses off, rubbing her eyes, replacing them on the bridge of her nose. This certainly was a long day, and it seemed to be about to get a lot longer. However, she didn't worry. As Charles asked if either of them wanted a drink, Iyana politely declined.
"So, where do we get off?" She asked, unsure as to the workings of the train. After all, it had certainly been a strange way of boarding. Selfconsciously, she rearranged the scarf that covered her scar, trying not to touch it.

"We get off after you've gotten some quality time with the backs of your eyelids," Charles spoke as he waived for a waiter, that childish look hovering in his innocent eyes. The poor fellow who found himself obligated to answer the call looked ten different kinds of nervous and a little discombobulated. He was short and a bit portly, getting on in years, although the graying hair might have been picked up within the last few fidgety minutes if the beads of sweat and almost tearful eyes were any indication.
"H-how may I h-help you gentleman?" his hands shook in the most pitiful way.
Charles raised an eyebrow and glanced significantly at Iyana.
"A-a-and lady?" the harried man rushed to add through trembling lips, his teeth almost chattering.
"Our lovely companion will not have anything at the moment, and this gentleman would like a glass of water. I shall take a whiskey on the rocks," he shooed the man away with a flicking motion, turning haughtily aside.
The man scuttled off quite willingly, almost suffering from a nervous breakdown on the way down the isle.
"I've always wanted to say that..." Charles looked rather pleased with himself.
Gilbert seemed to be having trouble determining whether he should be appalled by the others manner or bemused that the waiters were suffering such repercussions for their own ill mannered attitudes. "I can't tell who scares them more, me or you?" he shook his head, glancing out to find guilty eyes looking quickly away. "I'm sorry that they were so rude to you," his appearance of humor was tempered as he turned to Iyana.

Stifling an onset of giggles that threatened to overwhelm her at the complete terror of the waiters, Iyana had to bite her lip. Once the man had, rather gratefully it would seem, taken off down the centre aisle, she glanced around the carriage. She noticed that several people seemed to be looking at them, at least until they realised that the eyes behind the sunglasses were fixed on them and not looking somewhere else. She turned her gaze back to Gilbert as he spoke to her, nd she dismissed his remark with a shake of her head.
"You two scare the living daylights out of them. I'm a normal looking woman. They didn't make the connection that I was travelling with you. Their behavious in that respect was normal. Incourtious, but normal."

The young woman reached up to her hair, pulling out the tie that kept it in a high ponytail, letting the dark red locks fall from the restraint to hang halfway down her back. After running her fingers through the mass to try to tame it, she shoved the tie into her pocket and tried to arrange her features into an expression that told the people around her that she did this kind of thing everyday and was not in the least fazed or uneasy about it.

"I find it sad nonetheless that they are so discriminatory against those not as priv...i...le..." the sounds which came out of his mouth fell into arpeggio before dropping away altogether.

Charles had been staring out down the isle, rather enjoying the way that the waiters skittered about. He turned around, looking as though he was about to remark upon something which had particularly amused him. That would have been one of the servants made so utterly nervous that they had completely dropped a whole tray of drinks. However, when he saw what was going on in his own booth, his smile became slightly more devious. "Gilbert, dear, if you wouldn't mind recollecting your jaw, I believe you will find it resting upon my shoe," he indicated the gaping visage of the young man who had his eyes locked upon Iyana's long locks, now released from their previous hold. Gilbert was so completely mesmerized that it took him a full minute to absorb what his companion had said.
His pale face flushed such an utterly bright red that he might have blended in with the extravagant upholstery. "Oh! I... um," he gulped, suddenly as nervous and flustered as the poor attendants outside the booth, "Forgive me." Gilbert bowed his head, looking more than a bit ashamed of himself.
Charles's smile quieted significantly, losing its sadistic qualities, transforming instead into an appreciative and rather sweet one. It might be strange to think, but it would seem that he genuinely found their companion's apparent infatuation to be acceptable, perhaps slightly amusing, and maybe even cute. He turned the smile to Iyana, before leaning back to look out of the windows at the beautiful countryside which they were now moving through.