Date: Sun, 13 Aug 1995 23:20:09 -0700 This one is Pam's fault, for explaining something to me that Schanke said. RITES OF JUSTICE by James Kythe Walkswithwind Aug. 13, 1995 The plate shattered, as it had to- dropped onto the hard concrete floor. Sometimes plates would surprise you, falling onto a hard tiled or carpeted floor and simply bounce or roll to an intact stop. But it was too much to expect that the plate would not have broken against cement. Behind the sound of the splintered china were the continuing unheeding strains of the southern rock CD; he didn't know the name, he never remembered such details as that anymore. But the music played, soft and in a rhythmn that tugged at him. He knew it, somehow. Had heard it before, centuries past. It wasn't the music that surprised him of course. It was the figure standing in his doorway, tape in hand, measuring glances this way and that, apparently totally unaware of the shock that had sent a dinner plate to its death. Nick wondered if he should voice the question that lay jammed sideways in his throat; the absurdity of what was happening made him think twice before asking. Keeping his gaze firmly on his master, he crouched down and began picking up pieces of china, freed from the burden of being one round piece of dishware. He had a horrible feeling he was going to become intimately familiar with that sensation, and wished the universe wouldn't be quite so adept at foreshadowing. As if asking for mercy, he tenderly placed the pieces in the trash can, hoping that someone would as well take pains to treat his remains with care. For remains they would be, why else would *he* be here, now, doing this.. Nick nervously wiped his fingers on his pantsleg, his mind oddly calm and silent, as he considered Lacroix. Still standing in his doorway, infuriatingly nonchalant, still looking this way and that, calculating, still ignoring his child and his child's questioning stare. Finally he realised he had better ask, and get this over with. Lacroix obviously wasn't going to simply tell him what was happening. Much as Nick didn't want to know, he knew he had to. Steeling himself, briefly running through all the worst cases in his mind, knowing that no matter what else it could be, nothing would be worse than.. well, no, actually no matter what *he* thought of, Lacroix was likely to have thought of something worse. Which made it somewhat useless to try and anticipate.. He stepped forward, wanting to close the distance to approach some semblance of casualness, not wanting to give Lacroix the satisfaction of having unnerved Nick so much, by his mere appearance and apparently inexplicable actions. But Nick couldn't force himself any closer than a single step; too much of his good sense was yelling at him to fly, flee, be gone and to heck with whatever Lacroix had in mind. Stuck in place, one foot forward and one foot firmly ensconced behind, Nick balled his fists. He wasn't going to show any fear. He wasn't going to show any confusion. He wasn't going any further. He sighed. Now or never.. "Lacroix." The elder vampire didn't even glance his way, absorbed in his activity. Nick knew those motions should make some sense, should be telling him exactly what it was his irrepressible master was doing. But he could not fathom the meaning of those tools, the notes being taken, the glances and appraisals. For all his lifetimes of careers, he had tended towards a type of soldiery, academia, or medical profession. Nothing that could tell him the purpose of Lacroix' actions. Nothing that could tell him why he stood there, in one place, moving around in circles, sketching and writing and.. "Lacroix!" This time his voice had the bite that he felt, that he normally gained his master's attention, even if only for an indulgent sneer. This time there was no reaction, not even a firm brushing off of his having spoken. It was as if Nick wasn't even standing there. Gritting his teeth, Nick walked forward, intent on either getting answers, or throwing Lacroix out- perhaps both, he thought cheerfully. No reason why things couldn't go his way this time. "Hold this." Lacroix held something out, as Nick stepped beside him, speaking before Nick had a chance to reiterate his request for Lacroix' attention. Stunned, Nick could only hold out his hand, looking at the tape Lacroix placed in his open palm. Now totally confused and not at all pleased, Nick frowned and began to ask his question and Lacroix be damned if he wanted to pretend Nick wasn't talking. Before he could say anything, the elevator rose into the open space behind the doorway. Lacroix absentmindedly stepped aside as Schanke walked in. The Detective held out his box of donuts in a silent offer (as his mouth was in the process of holding a Boston creme filled donut). Lacroix shook his head, Nick winced and moved away. Nick turned to ask Lacroix for the last.. and first, time what he was doing. Schanke interrupted, saying in a pleased donut-crumb filled voice, "All right! Finally you get a new door put in." He gave Lacroix a intrigued glance. "You do carpentry, too? I guess being a DJ doesn't pay as well as it could, huh?" He handed the box to Nick, placing it atop the measuring tape still laying in his out-stretched hand. "Yo, Knight, we gotta get moving.. we've got three bodies waiting for us down at Mervyn's. You, uh, trust this guy to work here, alone? No offense, of course." Lacroix smiled. "None taken." He continued measuring the doorway. the end, Im sure.. James Kythe Walkswithwind gila@jbx.com Somewhere in the world it is naptime.