How I Know You, The Lame-verse Saga - Chapter 3

[Oversoul]

They had been in this strange place long enough that he was beginning to feel it. It wasn't a physical sensation, it wasn't painful or nauseating. In most regards it was exactly like the world he had left behind. The streets were strikingly similar, the shop names were the same, the crappy reality TV the same foolish games he'd always known. Yet with each day that passed the ache in his chest grew stronger. He was stuck here, yet he was painfully aware that some vital part of him was far away, lost in some place he couldn't return to, blocked, locked away from his reach. And he felt it like a void that had suddenly begun to grow, like the first throb of a headache in the temples before it gains strength, like the itch on your back that you just can't reach to scratch. With each passing day the sensation grew, until he could no longer ignore it.

In moments like these, moments where the midday Nevada heat hung heavy in the air, and no one in the band had anything to do - largely because everyone in the band or associated with it was far too lazy to do anything during the hottest hours of the day - that he felt it the strongest. With nothing to do with his hands, nothing to focus his mind on, no matter how mind numbing it may have proven to be, Domerin grew increasingly distracted, restless, anxious.

He was laying on the bed that was his in his shared hotel room, though now that they'd moved on the band members had graciously offered them a few more rooms so that they weren't crammed into only two. He'd foisted Quentin onto Cameron for the duration of this particular stay and allowed Rose and Greg to have a room to themselves. Nick wasn't such a bad room mate anyway. He wouldn't even sleep in the other bed, after all, so it wasn't like there was any argument between them over who got what. However, despite the fact that his room mate was not present at the moment, he wasn't alone. Across the room on the other bed sat... himself, lazily strumming on his guitar - the same three chords over and over again until Domerin wanted to reach out and slap his other self - and staring out the window into the bright afternoon as if he were waiting for something to come swooping inside the room and offer him the answer to some deep question.

He didn't realize that he was opening and closing his cell phone until the noise from the guitar suddenly ceased and he felt the other Domerin's blue grey eyes fall heavily upon him. It was disconcerting to be caught in his own gaze and he turned to glare at the younger version of himself until he looked away, then turned back to his cell phone. Closed it. Opened it. Glanced at the menu. Noticed the time. Closed it. Opened it...

"Are you just going to do that all day? Did you forget about something? Some meeting you're missing?"

Something I'm missing alright... "Mind your own damn business." He muttered, repeating the same sequence of actions all over again.

There was a soft sigh from across the room. "Fine. But it's not my fault we're stuck here, you know. You're supposed to be my body double. There are all kinds of fun things we could -"

"I'm not interested in any of your 'fun'. That's the shit that got all of your other body doubles in trouble - yeah they warned me about you." He added because he could see the younger version of himself opening his mouth and didn't intend to let him protest. "And even if they hadn't, I'm not stupid. You don't think I was ever twenty-one?" He snorted. "Besides, we're laying low after that whole Major American Kilt Guy thing."

"You do have to admit that was pretty awesome though..." He stopped listening, but his younger self kept right on talking, something about how great the whole incident had been for him. Domerin didn't really care.

A moment later he sat up and waved his hand at the younger version of him in annoyance. "Yeah yeah... I wonder if his phone number is the same."

"...that black armored guy and- who's phone number?"

"My... Never mind. Someone I know. My phone still works, ever since we got here. I assume that means that it's an active account but for some reason no one else is using it. It's a military number so maybe that makes sense. But his is a personal number... so it's possible it could be the same one..."

"You gunna quit muttering about useless crap and tell me who you're trying to call? Maybe I can put you in touch with him. I know alot of people you know."

He shot an acid glare across the room at the alternate version of himself. "If I tell you, will you shut the hell up?"

A weaker glare in return and a sulky, "Fine. Who is it?"

"His name is Sesha Laitos. You wouldn't know-"

"THE Sesha Laitos? You have his phone number?" The way the kid's eyes shined, Domerin would have thought he'd just been offered a bottle of expensive vodka - and in this universe that would be quite a gift.

"Well... yeah I have his phone number. He's my boy friend. Wait... what do you mean the Sesha Laitos?"

"You're dating him?" The younger Domerin threw himself off of the one bed and knelt at the foot of the one his older self was sitting on, only fear of the Major keeping him from throwing himself onto the other man... that and the fact that touching the other man made him feel really weird. It was too much like doing something to himself somehow.

"And you're not." The older Domerin stated it matter-of-factly.

"Of course not! But I... well that's... why do you think I started a band? I just... couldn't think of any other way to get his attention. He's got the whole company and he's surrounded by important people all the time. How else is he going to notice-"

"Yeah yeah, shut up." Domerin demanded, waving his hand in the younger man's face to get him to back up and give him some more space. Didn't ask for your whole damn life story... "I'm trying to make a phone call."

Whatever had caused him to make the decision, once it was made he punched the menu button and called up the proper speed dial. The younger man fell back, clearly not wanting to intrude, though he sat on the other bed and watched expectantly, almost longingly as Domerin waited, counting the number of times the phone rang.

The phone would ring three times exactly, a pick up just after the chime had died away the last time and well before the fourth could begin. There was no hesitation on the other end and he would hear a voice speak before he had a chance to say anything himself. "Liatos." Even without the name it was no doubt Sesha's voice, but like most things in this place there were subtle differences; this voice was younger sounding and holding a sort of crispness and edge that the man he knew never spoke with, even when he was short tempered. A moment later it was followed in a tone that suggested no nonsense would be tolerated. "Who is this?" This was his personal number, after all, and was therefore only given to a very few select individuals. Imagine his surprise at one he didn't know.

[Oversoul]

It wasn't until he heard the voice on the other end that he realized, in his haste to determine if the phone number would prove the correct one, he hadn't stopped for a moment to consider what he would say. This wasn't entirely unusual for him. It wasn't like he'd never rushed into a situation without stopping to think about what he should do before. It did result in a moment of hesitation before there was a response to the demand, however. His initial relief over hearing both that voice and that name on the other end of the line were drowned in the tone in which they were spoken. This Sesha was obviously as different from his own as the young man sitting across the room from him. He considered hanging up... but there was that terrible desire to see Sesha, even if it wasn't the Sesha he knew and loved and even if it wasn't in the way he wanted.

He considered responding in Greek. He and Sesha often conversed in his home language, it always felt personal when they spoke that way with each other, like it was some shared secret despite the fact that there was a whole nation of people who spoke the language. But then he realized that this Sesha may not have grown up in Greece and may not know how to speak the language at all. In the end he simply took a deep breath and answered the question. What else was there for him to do? Especially with the other man speaking in such no-nonsense tones. "This is Domerin Lorcasf."

There wasn't so much a hint of an accent in the voice that had spoken those few words so far but now not even the sound of breathing on the other end indicated that someone was still there listening, so quiet was the place that the other Sesha must have been in. But as the moments rolled on there was no doubt a demand was coming as a small intake of breath on the other end gave a clue to, though whatever was coming his way was cut short as Domerin finally spoke. In fact despite his earlier tones there was silence on the other end for several long moments, the name itself rather a shock along with the voice that carried it. But he rallied and spoke again, the voice not quite so quick now and there was a question in the way it was spoken, trying to hide confusion. "If you are Domerin Lorcasf, how did you get this number?"

There was slight accusation there, though if this Sesha knew his other self he must have known his age, and the differences in a mans voice over a decade or so of time. But it wasn't just that, from what he was implying he would never have given any Domerin Lorcasf his number. Not willingly anyway.

Again he hesitated, something in the tone making him think that there was more behind the words than their face value. His brows furrowed and he cast a look across the room at his younger self, wondering now if there wasn't something more to his earlier reaction than he had taken it for. His mind worked quickly, trying to find something, anything at all, that he could say to keep the other man on the phone. "I am." He assured the other man, and then before he could say anything else he rushed to add, "And I'm not. Not the one you're thinking of. I know it sounds like I'm trying to play a game with you, but please hear me out. I can prove to you that I am who I say I am, but what I want to tell you sounds very strange."

If he wasn't confused before, now he certainly was, though as the supposed Domerin went on the confusion was quickly morphing into anger, which was much easier to deal with. "Your lifestyle must be taking quite the toll on you then, you sound about 40 years old." It was not said kindly, or jokingly in any sense, the words meant for what they were. "Are you drunk Domerin? Who are you really? Did he pay you to call me and pretend to be him? I don't appreciate those sorts of things." From the sounds of it he was going to have to have a damn good line to keep this Sesha on the phone with him now, though he did seem to be leaving it open for a response.

He winced at the response, though he couldn't say he blamed the man for reacting that way. He knew what he was saying sounded crazy. And if he hadn't been on the receiving end of that exact same voice many a time for is drinking habits, he might not have been affected by it as deeply as he was. "Thirty-four, actually." He said very seriously, sounding incredibly sober when he said it. But how he was ever going to convince this man that anything he said was true, he couldn't quite figure out. "This isn't a joke. I wouldn't do that to you. But everything I say to try to prove to you who I am is only going to make you angrier at me. For instance, I'm a Major in the United States Armed Forces... or at least I am where I come from. Here I wouldn't be allowed to be. I know that. That's why this sounds insane. I'm not even entirely sure why I called you, except I wanted to hear the sound of your voice. I wanted to know if you were... you." Now he hesitated, but after a moment he realized he probably couldn't make things any worse than they already are so he added tentatively, "Where I come from, someone like you is very close to me. I'm sorely in need of some help right now and I guess I hoped I could turn to you, just like I would have turned to him, if I could."

After Domerin announced his age there was a light scoff on the other end of the line, but Sesha had at least enough politeness to let him finish what he was saying without interrupting, though by the end of it he would likely rather wish he had. There was a short silence before the voice spoke again, sounding rather off base and slightly more like the Sesha he knew, with proper emotions, though there was still a hardness and disbelief there. "That makes no sense. Domerin doesn't have a disciplined bone in his body. He would never join the army!" It was last ditch before attempting to deal with the last, and far more personal part of what was said.

That caught him up short, and though Domerin could not see his face he knew his own Sesha enough that he likely could have guessed the sort of expression he was making by the way he sounded when he next spoke, like he was restraining something in his voice, some painful wound. "That's cruel. I don't know what you're trying to suggest but that is completely out of line. How dare you say that sort of thing to me, I-" But he caught himself up short as there was a hitch in his voice and there was a quiet breath taken in, then his voice again very soft but quick and hard as if he knew he wouldn't be able to manage much more. "Do not call this number again." And without giving Domerin a chance to say more, or even if he did, the line went dead.

Wait! No! I-" But it was too late. The line had gone dead. He snapped his own phone closed and let out an aggravated growl, throwing himself back on the bed in the process, one arm raised to cover his eyes. Of course that's how things turned out, you idiot. Who the hell is ever going to believe your crazy story about some alternate reality if you're not holding a gun in their face?

"I take it things didn't go well?" His own voice sounded tentatively from across the room.

He lowered his arm and turned his head, glaring daggers at the other person in the room so that the younger version of himself instantly tried to curl up on the other bed to make himself look smaller. "No, seriously, what gave you that impression?" He turned away then turned back another moment, glaring acidly once more. "This is all your fault. I don't know how or why, but I know it's your fault."

"My?! But I-"

"Shut up! For Christ sake!"

"But how could it be my-"

[Oversoul]

"Obviously the two of you know each other somehow. And I don't know what you did, but you fucked things up between the two of you majorly. And I'd lay an awful lot of money on guessing that it was all your fault."

"Look all I did was-"

"Shut your mouth! Quit trying to tell me your goddamned life story!" I hope I'm not half as annoying as he is or... Grumbling to himself he lifted his phone once more and resolutely hit the same sequence of buttons again. He sat up as he waited for the voice to answer once more, praying the man didn't have caller ID.

This time the phone rang for quite a bit longer, long enough that he might consider hanging up, but eventually there was a click and the line connected again. Instantly Sesha was there again, angry this time without giving any other emotion a chance to take residence in his voice. "I told you not to call this number again. I do not want to speak to you!" But even so, he had answered the phone, whatever that might mean.

Domerin gritted his teeth resolutely and endured the endless ringing until finally he heard a click on the other end of the line. He knew that he wasn't the best at social situations, yet somehow his Sesha had managed to live with him all this time, so there must be some way he could reach the other man, if only in some small way. "Ah..." He started, hesitated, then rushed to get a few words in before the other man could hang up again. "Yes... yes you did. I'm sorry. Er... Really, the reason I called, this time, is that I wanted to say, I'm sorry. I obviously upset you and I, uh... I really didn't mean to. So I'm sorry. Sorry."

From the sound on the other end it seemed like he was going to be getting an earful from the irate Sesha, but when Domerin had stopped speaking there was no yelling and though there was silence for a time he did not get the click and dial tone again. Eventually, the voice spoke again, somewhat hesitant this time, slightly guarded. "You can't be Domerin, he would never have called me back to apologize. But... you sound like him." He knew Domerin had lookalikes, though he would never admit to knowing anything about the mans career out loud, but though face could be easily enough duplicated, sound could not, and it did sound like him, older yes, but still him. "Who are you really?"

Domerin sat quietly, content to listen to the man breathing on the other end of the line if it meant that he wasn't hanging up on him again. He seemed to have done something right, though really he wasn't sure this was any better than leaving things the way they had been before. "I... was worried it was really dumb actually." He admitted, allowing himself a very small smile because he couldn't help but feel that his incompetence in how to act in these situations had somehow helped him. But instantly he grew serious again and his initial response to the other man was nothing more than a soft sigh.

"I'm afraid if we have this conversation, it's just going to upset you again. I meant it when I said that's not what I want. I'm not the Domerin you're thinking of. The one with the retarded rock band that doesn't even make it's own songs. But I am Major Domerin Lorcasf, and if you saw my face, it's his face you'd see. And honestly I'm not sure at this point why I thought calling you was a good idea, but it seemed like it at the time." In retrospect, however, it seemed pretty dumb.

But doing something like that seemed like something Domerin would have done; at least the Domerin he'd known a long time ago. If it had been that Domerin he would not have been so offended. His Sesha had always loved his sincerity and willingness to be upfront with him, perhaps that would hold true now as well. At least this Sesha wasn't angry again, at least not audibly anyway. For some reason part of him believed that this person didn't want to upset him, he dealt with sycophants every day, liars and sneaks and it was hard to pull one over on him, but something had caught his attention even so.

The description surprised him, he knew Domerin would never have described his band that way, that hulking beast he'd thrown himself to with such abandon. At the moment he couldn't help but agree with the assessment. But then who was this thirty-four year old gravely sounding, serious army officer Domerin? "I don't understand what you're suggesting." It echoed his words before but it was not so much accusing as seeking more information, much like how his own Sesha might have, ever the logical thinker. "Domerin doesn't have any siblings and even on older one wouldn't look exactly like him. What are you suggesting, some sort of cosmic twin?"

The Domerin that Sesha did know was glaring profusely across the room. He'd even let out an indignant, "HEY!" When his band had been described in such a manner, but the man on the phone wasn't paying any attention to him. That Domerin was holding his breath, wracking his brains for some answer he could give to that question that would not result in the phone being slammed down on him again.

"This is probably going to make you hang up on me again but... yes. I'm pretty sure that is what I'm suggesting." Then, on impulse, because that was how he did most things in his life he added tentatively, "And if I could prove to you that I'm not some crazy asshole that's just trying to pull one over on you... would you agree to meet with me in person?"

Again there was a light scoff but Domerin avoided being hung up on. "That sounds like absolute bullshit." His Sesha was someone who swore very rarely, but the word flowed quite easily and smoothly off this ones tongue. "Only an idiot would try to pull one over on me with as stupid a story as you're trying to now." There was a pause. "It sounds very Domerin." For a moment he almost sounded amused. Domerin used to be so open with him and he had a hard time believing that any one else would have dared to pass such a story by him with such a serious tone. There was another pause at the last question. "That would depend on how good your evidence is."

Domerin was a slight bit shocked at the fact that such vulgar language flew past Sesha's lips so lightly, but he refrained from making a comment on it. He had prepared himself for the fact that the two of them were different, especially in the few short moments following that first phone call. This time, he couldn't help but grin. "You're right. It does sound like bullshit. But no one's found a better explanation for this predicament yet so... Anyway that'll be a conversation for another time. Don't you worry about your evidence, what I've got is pretty solid. I'll assume since your phone number was the same, your email address is too. I'll give you a few days to think it over once I pass it along to you, and if you still think this is just a dirty joke you'll never have to hear the sound of my voice again."

Sesha liked it when people where honest with him, or at least giving the pretense, but he could usually tell the difference; he couldn't see this person's face but their voice was leaning that way. Still, this was all very much confusing and though he couldn't possibly say what sort of evidence this man would possibly offer that would give truth to his story he was willing to go just far enough to look. "It is. Don't give it to anyone else." He could have meant the press, he could have also meant his counterpart, if he believed in it. "Better make it good then." He said, then once more the line cut off, though at least he'd gotten his chance.

[Oversoul]

It was later the same afternoon. The band members had finally pulled themselves out of their collective heat funk and decided to do some work - or at least what they seemed to think qualified as 'work'. Domerin didn't much care beyond the fact that it got both his alternate self and the rest of the charges they were forced to baby sit out of his hair and he could finally settle down among more welcome company to contemplate how, exactly, he was going to go about convincing the alternate version of Sesha he wasn't a crazy drunken asshole trying to sell him something strange.

His companions had gathered in the small common room which connected the three hotel rooms they had been given to share between them. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was quiet, out of the way and had enough comfortable chairs that all of them could lounge comfortably without falling over each other. Domerin sprawled in an arm chair, his eyes half closed while he half-listened to the TV news announcer drone on about the incident in San Francisco involving 'vigilante ascendants'.

The media's inability to let this simple incident go was worse than anything Domerin remembered from his days in 01 back in what he thought of as 'real reality'. Of course, it could have been that he had been sheltered from some of the fall out. He knew Greg had done his best to keep the team from the political bullshittery that had gone on behind the scenes, but still he thought the people here were overdoing it. Every station made a big deal over the story every day. It's almost as if this place is so goddamned boring they don't have anything else to consider news. They needed to find some, and quickly, because Domerin was severely sick of hearing about how he and his companions had swooped in to 'save the day' and then disappeared before police could identify them.

The story had been covered from every angle. Everyone who had witnessed even the tiniest bit of the incident had been interviewed to the point where they must be hoarse by now. Experts had been called in trying to determine where, exactly, the sniper shot had come from. Tearful thank yous from every cousin of the people Quentin had saved from the cars had been plastered over every late night news show. Now they were at the point where they were hiring random people they called pundits or experts to talk about both the incident and it's coverage. When people are on the news talking about how people are talking on the news, something's gone severely wrong.

Across the room, Rose had curled up on one end of the large couch, her skirts cascading over the edge, hiding where she had folded her legs beneath her. She was bent over a small pile of papers upon which she had focused her full attention. Between Quentin's quick thinking of grabbing a camera on his way for his reconnaissance, the images she had managed to pull out of his memory of the incident, and the skills of an artist among the band's crew, she had managed to reconstruct a fairly accurate map of the facility which housed the reactor. She, at least, was convinced that the reactor or something in the way that it functioned, was their key to fixing their current situation and getting back to wherever their home was - what was left of it after the reactor had exploded anyway. Unfortunately while schematics could tell them a great deal about the building's layout and how they might be able to storm it, it didn't tell them an awful lot about the science involved. She had taken to skimming the Internet for any information she could find on the reactor's creation and she was comparing the science she'd found online to what she saw in the schematics, but she was still only getting a limited amount of useful information out of it. After all, physics weren't one of her expertise.

"It's strange," She murmured, for the benefit of whoever was paying attention at the time. "It seems like they built this whole thing so that they could disassemble it in a hurry." She frowned and went back to scrutinizing the floor plan.

Finally, as the latest lead out to a commercial break on the news show promised more inane babbling about the Major Liberty incident, Domerin shifted, coming out of his stupor and abandoning his chair all together. He suddenly felt like he couldn't sit still. He certainly didn't want to be here, any more, and rather than bitch to those who might actually be watching the show about their choice of entertainment, he opted to get what fresh air you could get in the middle of Las Vegas in the early evening. "I'm going for a run." He announced as he moved towards the door. "Anyone want to join me?"

[Tag]

/Gamma Strike's/ resident Speedster was doing what he always did when there was nothing important to do. "ZZZZZZZ....!" Thus, he missed Rose's petiton to whomever it concerned, and was currently sprawled over a few cushions he'd moved off the couch and onto the floor. Well, if yer gonna laze about... do it correctly! While his snoring might have been on the higher end of annoying...

Be thankful he didn't hear those thank yous! He'da never shut up about it!

Quentin stirred. Quentin tossed. Quentin scratched himself... -where is purposely not mentioned!-. And, would've continued this way had not a certain word hit his ear drum, bounced down along the walls of his ear canal, been deflected off his ear drum, and sent S.O.S.-style to his brain. Shortly after, he awoke with a start. "W-wha?? Run?? Wait up, Maja D...!" It's not to say he enjoyed hanging with da D-Man that much, although he wasn't so bad for an old guy. But, a stationary Q was a bored Q.

And, every knows boredom is the number one killer of Q's worldwide!

Naturally, though, as he'd been sleeping, he wouldn't just hop out of bed and go rushing outside. A blur of motion carried him to the restroom, where he brushed, combed, and groomed, all in record time, before a similar wind led him out the door, where he caught up with the ever-resourceful -and less prone to Barrowish outbursts- Major Domerin.

He slowed his pace so that the last few steps were well within normal human velocities, and was at his shoulder not too soon after he'd left the dorm. "So, how many laps we doin'? I say we should start simple; 300 laps around the hotel..." Of course, he was thinking of his own abilities at this point. God only knew if the Major could perform such a \feat!\

[Livewire]

Ever since they met up with this band, Cameron's mood had been more foul than month-old meatloaf. Simply put, he couldn't stand his alternate self. "Emo-Cam" was just about everything he despised in a person, a singular embodiment of all that was wrong with society in the form of a scrawny mascara-wearing dolt. He was self-centered, vain, materialistic, whiny, shallow, uncharitable, phony, his playing was a mess of uninspired metal-by-numbers, and his music lacked anything remotely resembling spirit. God damn, but he wanted to punch something, anything, but preferably that blubbering idiot's nose. Maybe it was because, more than these qualities in and of themselves, they were all wrapped up in his skin. It was hard for Cameron to remember another time when he felt this aggressive.

That was why when Major Lorcasf made an open offer for the rest of the interdimensional travelers (don't get him wrong, he still thought it was ridiculous) to join him for a run, he literally jumped at the chance. "Oh, I am up for that," he announced, getting up to throw on his shoes. He wasn't much of an athlete in the first place, and he harboured strong doubts about the fast dude's state of mind, but he just had to get away from this damn place. Especially if that 'band' was going to start practicing anywhere within earshot.

[Oversoul]

In retrospect, Domerin realized he should have expected Quentin to be the first one to respond when the word 'run' left his lips. Still, he was a slight bit relieved when Cameron chimed in that he wished to go as well. Five minutes alone with Quentin was often enough for Domerin to start feeling like he wanted to hit the kid. His use of that annoying pet name for him wasn't helping either. In fact as soon as the kid went by him at normal speed he reached out and took Quentin's ear between thumb and forefinger and gave it a single sharp yank. "Major Lorcasf." He said, taking special care to annunciate every single syllable precisely. "If I hear that crap out of your mouth again, I'm gunna string you up by your toenails."

He waited until Cameron was ready before he headed out the door and into the blistering heat of the Navada afternoon. He could see why everything seemed to come to a screeching halt in the mid afternoon in a place like this and he almost regretted the decision to take a run when he was less than three steps from the door. But the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and once he had adjusted to the heat for a few moments it wasn't as bad as he'd initially thought. Once the sun slid completely below the horizon, it would at least cool down enough to be a reasonable temperature, and he wasn't in a hurry.

Unlike some people. At the suggestion of three-hundred laps, Domerin turned and gave Quentin one of those looks that said without words that he thought the young man was being ridiculous. Of course Domerin tended to be predisposed towards giving people Quentin's age those kinds of looks by default (especially if said person was Quentin), but he hoped the message would be conveyed none-the-less. "Yeah, that sounds like an excellent way to lay low!" And to his credit he did not add the words dumb ass to the end of the statement. That didn't stop him from thinking them though. "Why don't you get right on that." He added, motioning back in the direction they'd come from. Domerin had no doubt he could do it, though he rather thought the kid might pass out from the heat when he'd finished. "Cameron and I are going to jog up the street a little ways. Like, you know, normal people."

He motioned for Cameron to join him and took off at a steady and rather reasonable pace down the nearby street. Of course Quentin was welcome to follow as well, no doubt he could keep up, but if he really wanted to pull three-hundred laps around the hotel, Domerin wasn't going to stop him. He would roll his eyes quite alot, but he wouldn't try to stop him. He adjusted his pace when he got a sense of what was comfortable for Cameron so that the younger man wouldn't have any trouble keeping up. Even at a jog, Domerin could be comfortable with a fast pace, but he didn't so much care about the speed or even the direction their little run took. It was the action itself that he was interested in, the steady pounding of his feet against solid pavement. The way he regulated his breathing to keep himself from running out of steam by the end of the second street. It cleared his mind. It focused him. And that was exactly what he needed right now.

[Shiv]

Las Vegas. A city of vice and debauchery. A disgusting, foul place, full of sin and various other forms of terribleness. These people, the poor, poor people of Vegas, those who lived there and visited there, these people needed one thing and one thing only. They needed to be saved. They needed to be saved by the light of Jesus. And that was what brought Nicholas Friedman here. He may have been short in stature, but he was most definitely big on heart. Moving up and down the streets with a beatific smile on his face, the well-groomed, well-dressed young man spread the word and the light of the Lord to all who listened, and even many who didn't necessarily want to. But still, whether or not they knew it, everyone around wanted to be saved. And by God, Nicholas was going to save them.

With a bag slung over his shoulder covered with buttons that generally declared the greatness of the Lord and a hand gripping a stack of pamphlets which contained much the same statements, Nicholas appeared to have come very prepared. When the sun set and the pamphlets had run out, he would head to the soup kitchen to serve the needy, and then, with another day full of God's good works behind him, he would make his way back to his sparse apartment to sleep, and then do the very same thing the next day. It was in the middle of going about his daily routine, then, that Nicholas came around a corner and saw three men running toward him. Several others on the street may have recognised the one leading the group as Domerin Lorcasf, but not Nicholas. Television and popular radio stations were filled with lies and sin, and the young man would have nothing to do with them. Smiling brightly as the men approached, he raised a hand and hailed them. "Greetings, friend! Have you seen the light of Jesus and felt His warmth in your life?" he said, holding out on of his many pamphlets.

[Tag]

/Well/ excuuuuuse, Q! Seemed Major Domerin was a sourpuss in-not-so-disguise. Somewhat taken back by the tone of his superior officer, Quentin placed his hands on his hips in Q-ful defiance. "Well, hey, I never said we would do them at superspeed; and anyway, how would that work... I didn't know you guys could move that quickly...." Sarcasm. No real point in him offering a task they couldn't do. He meant normal speed, actually. But, the point was moot.

They'd already run off.

Quentin sighed, shaking his head and trodded off after them. There wasn't much more to say after that, and so he didn't say anything, though too move at such mundane velocities wouldn't require the sapping and amplifying of the immutable Kinetic energy fields that every form of matter generated. In short, he was just gonna use his feet for this one. Even a mild siphoning of the aforementioned energy would of had Quentin pulling away from the two little by little, and that kinda defeated the purpose of a three-man jogging expedition.

He was getting a bit hungry, though, and spied a hot dog stand just at the corner. "Score..." Quentin spoke aloud to himself. "Hey, uh, Major, Imma pause to get some grub. Don't worry, heh heh, I'll be right behind ya in a sec!" A claim Domerin knew to be true indeed. And, far be it to claim him Q's babysitter, but it was common sense simply to tell him of his short detour, and actually be part of a team.

And, to do this communication was essential. It took him all of 40 or so seconds to purchase a chili cheese with extra chili and rendevous with the others... just in time to see Nick handing out pamphelts. "Back, Maj... Uuhh... how'd Nick get here so... oh!! Nevermind." Forgetting for a sole instant they were in the land of the body [and, in Cameron's case, ability to live] snatchers. He caught his tongue in time to prevent him from wedging his foot in there along side the succulent hot dog he munched upon. Which he was about halfway done enjoying.

Not sure what to do, exactly, it would be he who takes the pamphelt. He lacked the 'git-the-fuck-out-my-faceness' of Domerin, and Cameron would probably go on a rant about quantum mechanics and how it disproved the existence of God. Subsequently, Quentin was atheist, but learned to be tolerate of others ideas; you'd never catch him handing out atheist documents. "Uh...thanks... dude..."

Hopefully, he didn't make himself a target for a barrage of bible verses and slogans. Ironically, if there was a God... he'd be spared from hearing about it. That thought made him choke lightly on the last morsel of chili dog. "....! Gah...! Heh heh..." He laughed to himself, declining to explain what was the \joke\

This post has been edited by Tag on Jan 24 2011, 09:11 PM

[Livewire]

It had been mentioned before that Cameron was never much of an athlete growing up. Some time on the lam and the rigors of his, er, 'irregular' lifestyle ensured that he was pretty fit, though. He could handle a good run without too much trouble, which was a good thing, because that was exactly what he needed right now. He despised feeling this excess aggression that was burning in his gut right now, and he needed to bleed it off in a way that was at least halfway constructive. Normally that would be a good, long shred with his guitar; unfortunately he didn't have it with him, and he anticipated a couple people being butthurt about it if he dared to borrow one of the band's. Mostly because he'd expose them for the posers they were in the process.

Cameron had to admit, he felt a little bad for Quentin. The guy seemed like he was locked in a permanent state of firing on all cylinders - as much energy as he felt he needed to get rid of, it must have been a hundred-fold in Quentin's case, and because they were avoiding unwelcome attention at all costs right now, he couldn't do it in an effective manner. He'd heard of ascendants like this, who felt trapped in their own bodies whenever they had to suppress their abilities. For Cameron's part, he despised his ascendancy, so although he couldn't exactly sympathise, he could empathise. "Come on, buddy," he clapped Quentin on the shoulder as he followed Domerin out of the room. "I'm sure if you take it easy enough, one of the treadmills in the hotel's workout room can take you up to a decent speed. Give it a try later."

Outside, Cameron breathed deep of what passed for fresh air in Las Vegas, and issued a sigh of contentment. This was more like it. There was only so much of sitting in a hotel room, hanging around with certain people that he could take. Although he was sure this dusty, hazy air would wreak havoc on his lungs if he breathed too much of it, say over several more of these jogs, he definitely didn't regret coming out here. He didn't even start to regret it when they were accosted, most unexpectedly, by Nick.

It took Cameron a moment - spent wondering how such a short guy managed to beat them out here - to realise that this was not the gun-toting maniac they had left behind at the hotel, but someone... not-quite-completely different. For one, his hair was too neat. For another, that smile? Creepy as hell. And instead of a gun, he seemed to be armed with... was that religious literature? It was! "Oh man..." he half-muttered, half-snorted, trying his level best to hold back a laugh. And here he thought his was bad. Barely able to suppress his grin, he politely accepted one of Nick's pamphlets and scanned it over with a gleam in his blood-red eyes. "Church of Jesus Christ of... oh." That what came next might prove a shock to Quentin didn't occur to Cameron, but that would be the icing on the cake of this calculated strike on the Mormon's wholesome sensibilities. With as genuine a smile as he could manage, he passed the pamphlet back over to Nick. "Thanks, but I'm Catholic." The pagan church of Satan, the seven-headed Beast of the Sea itself! ...or was that the southern Baptists who thought that?

[Oversoul]

Normally, once Domerin started a run, he didn't stop for anything. He would slow and run in place at red lights, of course, and he generally avoided running into the streets in front of moving cars, but aside from that he didn't usually pay any attention to anything outside of keeping his feet moving. Usually he had headphones blaring music in his ears to aid that very purpose. Perhaps it was the lack of guitar riffs in his ears which caused him to slow. Perhaps it was the fact that the young man stepped directly into his path. Or perhaps, and this was most likely, it was the fact that the young man who had just stepped directly into his path looked exactly like Nicholas Friedman, who he quite distinctly recalled leaving back at the hotel.

He skidded to a stop and stood for a moment, staring down at the young man, resisting the urge to glance back over his shoulder in the direction he'd come from. It only took him a moment to realize that this was not Nick, not his Nick, not the Nick he knew so well as a gun toting, battle loving, boat watching kid. This was someone else. Something like one of those freaks back at the hotel who called themselves a band. But somehow that didn't alleviate the shock when he looked down at the pamphlet that had been laid in his hand. It took a minute for the words light of Jesus to penetrate into the depths of his brain where true understanding was actually born.

Thus both Quentin and Cameron were able to respond to the religious propaganda toting youth before he he could manage to form the words, "This is a joke... right?"

Of course it was a joke. This whole sorry universe was a joke. Some crazed god's sick sense of humor.

He was in the process of handing back the pamphlet when he had an idea. A horrible idea. A terrible idea. Domerin had an awful, wonderful idea.

"Actually, no." He said, his whole tone changing in the blink of an eye. He even managed to sound somewhat friendly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've never heard of this warm light stuff. And I have some friends I'm pretty sure haven't either." It took so much effort not to grin that his jaw ached. "Do you think you could come back with me and enlighten us all? We're just staying in that hotel right over there." He turned, raised one arm and pointed back in the direction they'd come from.

[Tag]

/He/ braced for impact. Literally tensing his muscles. Everyone knew Major Domerin was, is and could be a sourpuss. So, some bible-thumping Mormon HAD to set him off. As much as he wanted not too see what he thought was on the horizon, he knew it was coming. Only... it didn't.

Q turned to the Major in above-average shock.

"M-Major, yer...!" Then, he gave it some thought. And nodded in agreement. Oh, man... who knew Domerin moonlighted as a Supervillain! "Uh, y-yea. Oh, such sinners they are. One even, a woman, wears dresses up past her knees. Oh! And, this other dude... a terrible, heathen of a smoker. They all need to hear whatever you have to say, dude..." <'And, I need to watch it happen!>

Of course, as awesome as the plot was, there was but one thing that would make it all that much sweeter. He risked a broken arm, and grabbed hold of the Major's arm, leaning in to whisper. "dude, i'll give you a thousand dollars cash if you let me introduce this guy to Nick..."

If there was God in Heaven, he would take the 1000 smackers... oh, he so wanted to get back at Nick for hating on him in front of \Barrow....\

[Shiv]

If one were to tell Nicholas that he was forcing his ideals on someone, he would be absolutely appalled by the thought, and probably end up spending about a week praying over it. He wasn't really out here to force anyone to do anything, only to show them the way to the light of the Lord. If people didn't want to listen, then all he could do was try, and if they would still have none of it, he would wish them well and pray for them later. Forcing things on people was violent and rude, two things which were most certainly very much against his nature. Thankfully, for him at least, people tended to either ignore him, actually listen to what he was saying, or just pretend to accept it, much as Quentin had. His faith in humanity's inner goodness was so great, however, that he couldn't tell the difference between the latter two. He nodded in response to Quentin with another smile, about to give the young man his most gracious "your welcome", when Cameron passed his pamphlet back to Nicholas and said he was Catholic.

Nicholas rather numbly took the pamphlet back, an absolutely appalled look taking the place of the smile he'd worn since running into these three. It would soon become apparent, however, that the look was not because of Cameron's religion, but something else entirely. "My goodness, I'm so very sorry, friend," he said, beginning to rummage through the bag over his shoulder. "I was too once, you know... well, not Catholic, but Methodist, although my father's Jewish, but I was raised Christian, since Judaism is traditionally passed down on the mother's side of the family... ah, here we go." Smile returned to his face, Nicholas procured another pamphlet, this one of Catholic literature. He understood that giving a Catholic a Catholic pamphlet was sort of an exercise in redundancy, but he also knew that giving a Catholic any Protestant or Anglican literature could mortally offend them, and he wasn't about to do that.

In response to Domerin's question, Nicholas' tone became gently chiding. "A person's immortal soul is never a joke, my friend," he said as he handed off one of the pamphlets he'd originally held. His tone, however, never took on one of scolding or anything like that. He wasn't one of those "fire and brimestone" types; that was far too violent, and Nicholas opposed violence in all forms. "My... my goodness," he said, seeming quite taken aback when Domerin said he'd never even heard of the light of their saviour. He knew that there were a fair amount of people in the world that hadn't accepted Jesus into their hearts (that was why he was in Vegas in the first place, after all), but to not even hear about it? Something had to be done about this, and something had to be done quickly. "I think... yes, that sounds like a good idea," he responded with a nod. His face took on a resolute expression, and he tightened the shoulder strap on his bag, then followed Domerin as he led the way back to the hotel. The smile returned to Nicholas' face, however, when Quentin said his piece. "Now, now, my friend. Lord Jesus himself said 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'"

[Livewire]

Cameron's dark crimson eyes studied the pamphlets in Nicholas' hand for a moment, looking uncertain about what he should do with them. Contrary to his suspicions, this overly-likeable clone of his fellow Canuck didn't seem to be proselytizing for one particular sect of Christianity, but for the God Squad in general. The teenager saw that he was foiled. "Uh, thanks," he muttered, his tone somewhat defeated, as he accepted the pamphlets. Nicholas was right, giving Catholic religious literature to a Catholic was pretty redundant, but Cameron figured there was bound to be a long drive or a boring night cooped up in a hotel room, and these would at least give him three, four minutes of something to occupy his mind.

He was vaguely bemused by Major Lorcasf's decision to bring Nicholas back to the hotel. Sure, he could see the comedic value in it (and there was a lot), but it was also bound to get on some people's nerves. He clearly didn't know the other Army major as well as Domerin did, but he guessed that the grizzled old geezer would be one of those 'some people', and he wasn't sure whether to rub his hands in glee or cower in fear with the anticipation of his reaction. On top of that, Cameron wondered if it was such a good idea to risk dragging yet more people into this screwed-up little adventure of theirs. This squeaky-clean version of Nick Friedman was comedy gold, but Cameron also figured him for a nice guy who didn't deserve the trouble they were inevitably going to go looking for. Not that Major Lorcasf's intention was anything more sinister than introducing the pair to each other and letting the sparks fly, but the risk of involving the guy was still there.

[Oversoul]

Whatever Quentin had expected when he had taken ahold of Domerin's arm, the reaction he got was strange, probably strange enough to catch him off his guard. There was a friendly smile on his face, wide, welcoming, anyone looking at him would have thought he was just being a nice, friendly guy. But people who knew him, even just a little, knew better, and if Quentin looked closely enough, he might be able to catch the sure sign that the smile was fake; it didn't touch his eyes. The friendly demeanor was only a ruse; he couldn't go scaring off this nice, kindly Nick, after all, that would ruin all of his plans.

Besides, if Quenitn missed the look in his eyes, his words would be enough to shatter any hope he might have had that Domerin was actually being nice for a change. "Not a chance in hell, kid." he said, his cheery tone a strange contrast to his words. "Even if you had all your money in this universe and could pay me cash in advance - because I'd only accept it in advance, no checks - there's not a price you could name that I would accept in exchange for giving this up." Domerin had known Nick for most of Nick's life, after all. This was a once in a life time opportunity to pay him back for a laundry list of grievances, not the least of which included trying to kill him. Quentin was just going to have to be happy with a seat on the sidelines.

Just in case he hadn't gotten the picture though, Domerin added through clenched teeth in an under tone, "Don't ruin my fun or I'll break your arm." All the while still smiling like they were best friends.

Domerin Lorcasf; evil genius not to be trifled with.

He gently extracted himself from Quentin's grip and motioned for 'Nicholas' to walk with him as he turned and made his way back in the direction of the hotel. That falsely friendly smile was flashed for him as well, though even if Quentin had been able to pick up on it, he doubted Nicholas would be able to tell. After all, they were complete and total strangers and the illusion was quite remarkable if a person didn't know to look harder. He made small talk all the way back to the hotel, steering clear of anything personal and focusing instead on asking him about this 'warm light of the savior' stuff even though he had no interest what-so-ever in Christianity in any of its forms. Even as he mentally rolled his eyes at the whole spiel, his chest was practically bursting with barely contained glee. Sometime very soon he was going to be laughing very hard and he wasn't going to experience any remorse.

When they reached the hotel, Domerin bid Nicholas to wait in the hallway just outside the common room where his friends were still talking or lazing about, whatever it was they were doing in there, and promised he would be back in a moment. He slid into the room long enough to ensure that Nick was actually still there and then he hurried to open the door and usher Nicholas into the center of the room, grinning from ear to ear all the while.

"Nicholas, these are my friends. That there is Rose, Major Barrow, you already met Cameron and Quentin, and this," He finally turned Nicholas in the direction of Nick. That grin was real now, and what a grin it was! "This is my friend Omar. Omar, this is Nicholas. Nicholas, I'm pretty sure that Omar here has never even heard 'warm light of Jesus' used in a sentence before."

This was going to be good.