The Immortals {Currently Open}
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"Don't teach me about regrets until you have had any worth speaking of. I accept you for who you are, but don't lecture me!"
Gerard was now standing very close to Charles, and he was breathing heavily.
Gerard was now standing very close to Charles, and he was breathing heavily.
The Japanese man, who had been facing forward staring the whole time, finally, slowly gets up and turns to them. He has produced his bent and worried note.
"So no one knows what this is about...then things are far stranger than I feared..."
He then takes stance and salutes as he was drilled to so many years ago, "My name is Sasaki Hachiro. I also fought in the second world war. There was no wrong or right side. It was war."
He sighs and sits back down, "I am personally more inclined to wait for whatever is is that has called us here, and pray. From the sound of how...old...some of you must be, I suggest you do the same."
With that he continues to gaze up at the statue of Mary.
"So no one knows what this is about...then things are far stranger than I feared..."
He then takes stance and salutes as he was drilled to so many years ago, "My name is Sasaki Hachiro. I also fought in the second world war. There was no wrong or right side. It was war."
He sighs and sits back down, "I am personally more inclined to wait for whatever is is that has called us here, and pray. From the sound of how...old...some of you must be, I suggest you do the same."
With that he continues to gaze up at the statue of Mary.
Njord knew that a fight where no one could die wasn't any fun so he plugged his guitar into the amp turned it on and played the most annoying thing he could think of, an imitation banjo duel. "Calm down children, starting a fight is only going to get someone arrested and a lot of questions mortals don't need answered." He was always a calm relaxed voice of reason when he was playing his guitar.
Gerard stepped back, feeling ashamed. He dropped to his knees, also facing the statue. He looked determined.
"Ironic.. I swore to my self I'd never do this again." He clasped his hands and soon started chanting in Latin with a low voice.
"Ironic.. I swore to my self I'd never do this again." He clasped his hands and soon started chanting in Latin with a low voice.
"Aye, brother." Seamus nodded to his fellow Irishman, the guitar case open across his lap as he cleaned his P90. The bullpup assault rifle was broken down and Seamus' hands lovingly ran the oilcloth over each part, inspecting each for burrs in the metal and warpings. As he worked, he spoke: "A nation is much like a gun, y'ken? Each part is as important as the last and, should ye fail in ye're duty to keep 'er clean and in shape, ye'll find 'er wantin' when ye most need her." Finding no inconsistencies, he wiped the last of the visible moisture away and dried them on a soft cotton rag before reassembling the weapon and staring down the sight to check the lines. "That be the problem wit' yer philosophy. Ye treat a parta yer populace, yer lifeblood, as naught more than trash and ye'll soon find that yer garbage dumps're more fertile than yer fields."
The fact that the barrel was pointing at the self-proclaimed Nazi was merely coincidence.
The rifle disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Seamus put his feet up and looked at Paddy. "D'ye mind if I bother ye fer a nip? Been some time since I had any Irish brew," he asked, looking at the whiskey longingly.
The fact that the barrel was pointing at the self-proclaimed Nazi was merely coincidence.
The rifle disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Seamus put his feet up and looked at Paddy. "D'ye mind if I bother ye fer a nip? Been some time since I had any Irish brew," he asked, looking at the whiskey longingly.
DAMN MY LONG POSTING TIMES!!!!
*curses sky*
*curses sky*
Charles glared at Gerard, ignoring the Japanese man
"I play the violin beautifully, speak in over a dozen languages, paint, have my own company, and, most importantly I hunt like a master"
He took a step forward, looking around at those around him
"And what exactly do you do with your regrets? Let them fester inside you? Grow? Eat you up?"
"I play the violin beautifully, speak in over a dozen languages, paint, have my own company, and, most importantly I hunt like a master"
He took a step forward, looking around at those around him
"And what exactly do you do with your regrets? Let them fester inside you? Grow? Eat you up?"
Gerard looked at Charles from his kneeling position.
"How old are you? 500? There are some things you can't run from forever. I wish I could take more lightly on things, but maybe it's my age, maybe it's just who I am. For me- I simply have no purpose with this existence any more." He started praying again.
"How old are you? 500? There are some things you can't run from forever. I wish I could take more lightly on things, but maybe it's my age, maybe it's just who I am. For me- I simply have no purpose with this existence any more." He started praying again.
Zala had found it pitifully easy to listen in on the introductions and argument. She'd have to keep an eye on the upstart German, in case he got caught up in her skin-color. A few of the others showed promise. So many of them were still so young. Children compared to her. And yet she was the one who looked like a girl...
"The young and the weary are not meant to speak the same language, do keep that in mind everyone." She said, stepping out from her hiding place with the sure step of a woman of many years. She was wearing an Italian sun dress that complimented her coloring, the meticulousness in her appearance a flawless frame for her natural beauty, although she did what she could to disguise her obvious youth. She didn't have the height of anyone present, but showed no acknowledgement of that fact, nor any open conceit of those before her. For the most part she was a mask aloofness with a lingering spark of passionate interest, as she examined those around her.
She executed a courtly curtsy to them. "Zall-ag-hád, or Zala if you prefer. Died citizen of Babylon under the reign of Hammurabi."
"The young and the weary are not meant to speak the same language, do keep that in mind everyone." She said, stepping out from her hiding place with the sure step of a woman of many years. She was wearing an Italian sun dress that complimented her coloring, the meticulousness in her appearance a flawless frame for her natural beauty, although she did what she could to disguise her obvious youth. She didn't have the height of anyone present, but showed no acknowledgement of that fact, nor any open conceit of those before her. For the most part she was a mask aloofness with a lingering spark of passionate interest, as she examined those around her.
She executed a courtly curtsy to them. "Zall-ag-hád, or Zala if you prefer. Died citizen of Babylon under the reign of Hammurabi."
Fredrick turned to greet the newcomer. His eyes met her's, and he could see the endless ages that she had lived. She was even older than himself, and he was older than most of the people in this room by centuries. Her youth, which she had gone to lengths to conceal, could not be hidden from him, yet he knew that her physical body had no grounding in what her actual age was. She was thousands of years old now, and the look in her eyes and carry of her step proved it. Oh, the things he would love to ask her, the things they could talk about and the infinite facets he could learn from her experience...
He did not bow, or nod, or execute any of those traditional gestures of respect, as they surely were just tiny, just-formed practices of unruly and rash young people in her eyes. He simply adjusted his stance, and tweaked his body language, in such a way that would clearly show her his respect on a high, psychological level, that only someone with centuries of practice could understand.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Zall-ag-hád." he said, staring directly into her virtually ageless eyes.
He did not bow, or nod, or execute any of those traditional gestures of respect, as they surely were just tiny, just-formed practices of unruly and rash young people in her eyes. He simply adjusted his stance, and tweaked his body language, in such a way that would clearly show her his respect on a high, psychological level, that only someone with centuries of practice could understand.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Zall-ag-hád." he said, staring directly into her virtually ageless eyes.
A ghostly smile graced Zala's lips at the proud introduction. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain." Then she met the gaze of Fredrick, and respectful interest sparked in her own eyes. The closest in age to her, she knew without having to ask. And he appreciated that distinction, which too many of their younger compatriots seemed less quick to grasp. "And you... Mr. Wellington." She allowed amusement at the utterly modern name to show through, warming a bit in demeanor now that she knew she was not solely among children barely a fraction of her age.
"I had forgotten how keenly I missed the company of our kind." She said almost absently, for it had slipped her mind, like everything else in the ever-slowing recent years. "Come, perhaps we shall entertain one another with stories while we wait. It is not like the long-lived to be impatient."
"I had forgotten how keenly I missed the company of our kind." She said almost absently, for it had slipped her mind, like everything else in the ever-slowing recent years. "Come, perhaps we shall entertain one another with stories while we wait. It is not like the long-lived to be impatient."
Seamus didn't allow the appearance of the gir...no, woman faze him. He simply sat up straight rather than lounging and tossed his M1911 into the guitar case with the P90, snapping it shut and slipping it under his pew. The way she walked reminded him of his old Sergeant in the IRA.
Sarge had been 78 when he trained the Irish to defend themselves, and tougher than a box of hobnails. The old devil hadn't aged like cheese, he'd aged like teak. You would have sworn the man could punch a hole in concrete. For some reason, he carried the weight of his years (which, in human terms, was a lot) lightly and with dignity, while simultaneously telling you "don't screw wit' me, laddie. I'll eat ye fer breakfast."
And this slip of a girl was exactly the same. He'd swear that, physically, she hadn't even gotten out of puberty. Simultaneously, he'd swear that her mind was far more mature than his would ever be, for all that he'd lived as long as Sarge had, now.
Both Sarge and this girl had seen a lot.
He had to respect her. Authority was too drilled into him to allow him to do otherwise. From his upbringing as a Catholic to his time in the IRA, the thought that "authority is correct" was part of his soul. If she told him to jump, he wouldn't waste time with pithy questions, he'd damn well jump and come down when she told him to.
Sarge had been 78 when he trained the Irish to defend themselves, and tougher than a box of hobnails. The old devil hadn't aged like cheese, he'd aged like teak. You would have sworn the man could punch a hole in concrete. For some reason, he carried the weight of his years (which, in human terms, was a lot) lightly and with dignity, while simultaneously telling you "don't screw wit' me, laddie. I'll eat ye fer breakfast."
And this slip of a girl was exactly the same. He'd swear that, physically, she hadn't even gotten out of puberty. Simultaneously, he'd swear that her mind was far more mature than his would ever be, for all that he'd lived as long as Sarge had, now.
Both Sarge and this girl had seen a lot.
He had to respect her. Authority was too drilled into him to allow him to do otherwise. From his upbringing as a Catholic to his time in the IRA, the thought that "authority is correct" was part of his soul. If she told him to jump, he wouldn't waste time with pithy questions, he'd damn well jump and come down when she told him to.
Paddy smiled at Seamus and handed him the bottle saying "What kind of brother doesn't share". He turned to Zala and gave her a quick smile saying "But as you so elegantly demonstrate, looking young to others does not mean inexperience".
Bahhh, that's what I get for doing homework first! Late entries! ...Funnily enough, I was doing history homework.
Guy had arrived in the early morning, his mouth dry and distasteful from the inadequate meal the airlines had provided. His dark hair curled about his head with a sort of messy purpose, where every unruly strand seemed combed in an appealing way. He had wandered the streets of New Orleans for a couple of hours, and by the time his feet began to grow wearily, his eyes fell upon a church, tucked away from the modern structures. In a way, it reminded him of himself. Curious and eager to leave the blaring sun, he stepped toward the building, hands in his jean pockets.
The sight before him was startling, to say the least. The Virgin Mary was first to greet him, and immediately he drew the cross over his chest in acknowledgement. His eyes- seeming old and sorrowful- next looked to the group gathered beneath the Virgin's watchful gaze. He felt the crumpled envelope wrinkle in his pocket. Slowly, he took a step into the church, his fine Italian shoes echoing distantly on the cement. As he did, the words of the only woman of the group reached his ears.
"Come, perhaps we shall entertain one another with stories while we wait. It is not like the long-lived to be impatient." She did not speak at all like her age. He stiffened and stopped, the sunlight through the stained glass windows casting a greenish impression upon his cheek.
Another man replied, his eyes reflecting not nearly as much wisdom and longevity. "But as you so elegantly demonstrate, looking young to others does not mean inexperience".
Guy hesitated. Surely these people...? They couldn't be...?
"'Looking young'... So I trust such a curious group does possess an extraordinary amount of experience?" His voice, soft but strong, carried easily across the quiet church.
Zala smiled at the comment over her elegant example before the newcomer drew her gaze and attention, taking the measure of him in a sweeping glance, approving from his evident taste in clothing. "Yes, as do you, it seems."
She gestured about at the group in amusement. "Welcome to the club."
She gestured about at the group in amusement. "Welcome to the club."
Fredrick greeted the newcomer with a warm smile. The "boy" was young, a few centuries perhaps, but carried himself well, and was less rash and impatient then the rest of the people gathered here, even the Irish fellow who appeared to be older. "Indeed, some more than others." he replied as the man approached. "My name current alias is Fredrick Wellington, and this is Zall-ag-hád."
Guy smiled slightly, though any cheer seemed to fail to meet his eyes. He bowed his head casually, surveying them all. More here than I have met before... Are we all that remain? He had met two others only- a Russian man one lifetime ago, and a Spanish woman three lifetimes ago. He could still vividly remember her scent, the texture of her hair, and the shine of morning sunlight on her bare hips.
"Grazie. A pleasure," he replied, a little stiffly. Her paused. "Guy, many call me; Giorgio, for those with an Italian tongue." His own voice still held a strong accent, one of few things not ravaged by time. "And... I am unaware as to why I am here, truly."
"Grazie. A pleasure," he replied, a little stiffly. Her paused. "Guy, many call me; Giorgio, for those with an Italian tongue." His own voice still held a strong accent, one of few things not ravaged by time. "And... I am unaware as to why I am here, truly."
Zala's eyes twinkled a bit at that. "Is that not why we are all here? Because we don't know why? Mystery, especially in our own motivations, is such a rare thing." She raised an eyebrow in question. "Vivi adesso? La mia casa è al di fuori di Venezia per ora."
You live there? My home is outside Venice for now.